Jumanji: Eye of the Jaguar (VanPeltxOC)
by Beautiful-Monster99
Summary: Emma Adams is trapped within the now-videogame Jumanji, taking on the player avatar Jessie Jinx, filling Emma's life with great danger and risk. When Emma finally meets the ruthless man who has been hunting them down for years, things become more complicated than ever before. This new man could very well unravel her completely, and she may do the same to him.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: The movie Jumanji has always been a** **childhood** **favorite** **of** **mine (even though it scared** **me** **the first time** **I** **watched it, but** **that's** **beside** **the** **point). When** **I** **heard** **that** **they were making a second movie,** **I** **wasn't** **entirely sure how good it was going to be.**_

 _ **I am** **happy** **to say that** **I**_ ** _was_ _very pleased with the new movie! It is a welcomed addition to the movie_** _ **I** **love so much, and** **I** **have no doubt that the spectacular Robin Williams** **would** **be proud** **of** **this production.**_

 _ **And to top it all off, there was some pretty good eye candy, too!**_

 _ **Yes, the man who had once terrified me as a child is now one of** **my** **top obsessions as of lately. The new and improved Russel Van Pelt has my heart, along with a few other men** **I** **don't need** **to** **mention ;)**_

 _ **So,** **I** **just couldn't help myself and** **here's** **a love story with him :)**_

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 _ **:Summary:**_

 ** _Emma Adams is trapped within the now-videogame Jumanji, taking on the player avatar Jessie Jinx; a young archeological geographer that was once apart of a successful group lead by Dr. Bravestone._**

 ** _When four new players start the game, Emma finally meets the ruthless man that has been hunting them down for years. They were struggling to survive before- now Emma's unexplained connection with this deadly enemy may get them all killed._**

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 ** _:WARNINGS_** **:**

 **Mild swearing**

 **Suggestive themes**

 **May contain sexual in later chapters, but only if you guys ask for it :)**

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"Heh, I defanged a snake." A loud chorus of agitated groans started up from the small group of four, all of them turning to glare at their short friend and yell, " _Fridge_!" in sync.

"We get it – you defanged a snake," a tall, muscular man uttered to his former friend. "Good for you. Now just drop it."

Fridge's face quickly morphed into one of offense. " _ _Excuse__ me? That wasn't just some ordinary damn snake, Spencer; that was a __black mamba__ _!_ Just two drops of potent black mamba venom can kill a full-grown human adult! Like cobras and coral snakes, the venom of a black mamba contains neurotoxins, which are fast-acting toxins that destroy the nerve tissue and shuts down the nervous system and-"

"-Paralyzes its victims, painful destruction of tissue, causing almost certain death, yeah, yeah, __yeah__! We get it, Fridge, alright? You defanged a cobra! Good job for the hundredth time," Spencer groaned, desperately trying to end the tiring conversation once more.

Fridge huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, his face scrunching into a scowl. Thankfully, he seemed to have finally let the conversation go. The group could hardly hold their sigh of relief as they were finally able to walk through the small town in relative silence. To any passing person, the small group of four would have looked no different from the last nor the next. However, the group wasn't normal like the village people who were currently ushering around them, going about their normal daily lives like any other. Or, was it the villagers who were not the normal ones? Fridge's wasn't all too certain anymore.

The four people that drudged through the happy marketplace were anything but ordinary. The bodies they currently inhabited were not their own - well, neither was this world. The group was, in actuality, young teenagers who had all decided to play the fateful video game __Jumanji.__ _F_ ateful that game was, indeed.

After what had seemed to be a shortage in the wiring or something of the sort, the teens - who would not normally be considered friends back in their own world - were sucked into the video game, taking on their previously chosen character avatars. Now they were stuck in a strange place with odd rules with three other people they would not have bothered to talk to on any normal day.

Unfortunately, this was not just any other normal day, and the only thing that currently made any sense to Fridge was the fact that he couldn't eat cake because it made him explode and he was an expert on animals; so much so that he was able to defang a snake within a second's notice. Neither of these two facts made very much sense to him still. Everything was so confusing and so wildly different that Fridge wasn't exactly sure how to act; should he treat this as though he were merely in some sort of coma-induced dream, or as though everything was actually real and truly dangerous? He did not know, so Fridge did the only thing that made any lick of sense - he had become angry and would remain that way until he figured out how to properly react to everything.

He crossed his arms gruffly over his chest and mumbled under his breath, "it wasn't no dang cobra. I defanged a black mamba, _that's_ what it was."

" _ _Fridge__!"

He was about to retaliate once more when suddenly he felt a harsh tug on his arm. He turned to glare at whoever had grabbed him, thinking it was one of the villagers trying to sell him some unneeded object or unwanted food, but his words lumped in his throat and caught instantly. The person who had grabbed him wasn't some little begging child ready to rob him blind the first chance they got, nor was it another potbellied old man trying to make him to explode by giving him more pound cake to eat. It was a woman.

Her small hands were grasped around his arm loosely as she looked up at him eagerly, her shoulder-length golden hair swaying in the light breeze, causing the loose curls to graze along the sides of her rosy cheeks. He was taller than her by only a few inches, but it still felt like an accomplishment for the short male. Feeling a sense of pride by this small feat, he dared to flash the woman a charming smile and boasted, " well hey there."

"Franklin Finbar," the woman gushed, her bright green eyes sparkling brightly as her red lips grew into an innocent smile. "Thank goodness I have found you! You must hurry, all of Jumanji needs you!"

Fridge couldn't help but laugh. He looked back at his bewildered friends and puff out his chest with pride. "You hear that? She said Jumanji needs me."

"Wait, you need __him__?" an overweight middle-aged man asked with a raised brow. "'Cuz I think you meant him," he pointed towards the towering Spencer.

"Shut it, Bethany, she said she needs _me_!" Fridge glared at the woman trapped within a man's body.

Bethany raised her hands in surrender and hissed, "jeez, _sorry_."

"Um, hi - excuse me, Miss?" Spencer spoke up, leaning down to eye level with the blonde woman. Her eyes flickered to his, her face dropping into a blank stare almost immediately. "Well, ah, you see, we have this map that has a missing piece. We came here to find it but only found a little elephant underneath a black cobra and we were wondering if you knew where to begin the climb, by any chance? Or, better yet, do you know where the missing piece is?"

"It was a black mamba."

"I don't think that really matters right now, Fridge."

"It matters to me, 'cuz _I_ was the one who defanged it!"

Spencer elbowed the shorter man in the ribs then looked back at the girl with an expectant smile. The stranger simply stared back at him, her pale face devoid of any emotion. Then, her eyes darted back to Fridge. Green eyes lit up once more and she smiled a large, toothy grin. "Franklin Finbar!" she exclaimed once more. "Thank goodness I have found you! You must hurry, all of Jumanji needs you!"

Spencer's face fell and he clapped his hands together in agitation, realizing instantly that she must have been an NPC. " _Right_. I don't know why we keep trying that."

"You must hurry, all of Jumanji needs you!"

"Should we go with her?" a tall woman with red hair asked softly. She felt the eyes of her friends all turn to her, and she averted her gaze shyly. "I-I mean, maybe she'll lead us to the missing piece?"

"We? I think you mean __me__! The girl asked for Franklin Finbar, not any of y'all," Fridge argued, sending a glare at the group as he shook his hands at them in warning.

Biting her lip, Bethany spoke up, "but what if, like, you need to fight a dinosaur or something?"

Fridge suddenly looked less sure of himself. "Hmm... Didn't think of that," his lips flattened as he mulled over the possibility. In any normal circumstance, he would have laughed at the ridiculous thought. However, the small group of four teenagers had been trapped inside an actual video game for Lord knows how long and he still wasn't entirely sure he knew what the game's limits and rules were yet. And with only three lives to spare, they had to test the waters carefully before treading too far at sea.

Suddenly, he reached out and snatched Bethany by the sleeve of her jacket and pulled her up next to him. "That's why you're coming with me. After all, you __are__ the paleontologist!"

"What? Wait- no! I was only kidding!" the poor, portly woman shouted and tried to squirm out of his sturdy fingers. However, Fridge's grip was strong, and he wrestled against her attempt to flee.

"Hey, hey!" Spencer boomed over the squabbling two, glaring at the bickering teens like a scolding parent. "We'll all go. __Together__ , alright?"

The stranger – who's face had grown utterly blank through the entire ordeal - popped back into her excited state and she chirped once more, "you must hurry! All of-"

"Jumanji need us, yes, we get it," Spencer cried as he ran his hand over his face. "Just - just lead the way already." The happy woman's face grew even brighter seeing that the group was finally going to follow her, and when she turned and began scurrying down the crowded road she practically bounced with each step. The group quickly raced after her, trying to keep her waving golden hair in sight as they struggled around the densely packed people. "Hey! Miss, wait up!" Spencer called out.

"Don't go so fast!" Bethany whined.

They weaved in and out of the people's way, not knowing where they were headed or if the woman they were so mindlessly following was leading them into a trap or puzzle or another level of the game. She may have even been leading them nowhere, for all they knew.

The woman was surprisingly fast, the group quickly found out, and on more occasions than one they had thought to have lost her. However, every time they were ready to give up their seemingly fruitless pursuit, they'd see the crimson red of her lips or a flash of the sandy color of her outfit once more. The small glimpses of the stranger were just enough to keep them going.

Spencer had just side-stepped around yet another annoyed villager when he caught sight of a group of large, burly men further down the path. They were pushing the innocent villagers out of their way with great force and yelling curses and threats about them, not caring if the person on the other end of their assault was man, woman, or child. Occasionally, one of the men would grab an unsuspecting villager by the collar of their clothes and begin demanding to know where the "strangers" were. Spencer had a pretty good idea who the strangers they were looking for were.

Instantaneously, his heart began pounding overwhelmingly in his ears as his chest tightened in panic. He settled a firm hand on both Martha and Bethany's shoulder, stopping them in place as he managed to say one single word; " _ _run__."

With that said, he turned and bolted in the opposite direction. The remaining three friends didn't process his word quick enough. With a loud shout from one of the burly men, followed by a chorus of hearty shouts, they knew they had been spotted.

The group scattered, looking for places to either escape the streets or hide from their enemies. Fridge jumped behind a pillar and flattened himself between the hard stone and a carriage full of odd looking fruits, praying no one had seen him. His prayers were seemingly answered when two men three times his size stampeded right past him and his safe haven. He let out a long sigh of relief, his heart thundering loudly in his ears as he tried to steady his breath.

"Franklin Finbar!" Fridge shouted out in shock as he was suddenly face-to-face with the beautiful stranger from before. She smiled innocently at him with her wide smile and big eyes. "Thank goodness I found you! You must hurry, all of Jumanji-"

"Is in danger, I know, but right now __I'm__ the one in danger, so _keep it down_!" Unfortunately, his efforts to stay hidden were in vain. One of the men had heard his shout from further down the street and had easily pinpointed Fridge's location from there. Letting out a mighty battle cry and raising a sword as thick as his arm over his head, the gorilla of a man came charging towards Fridge like a mad bull. Fridge froze on the spot, his body going into panic mode and enabling him to move. He was being run down by a giant behemoth of a man and he couldn't do a thing to protect himself.

There was a sudden tight grip on his wrist, and before he knew it he was yanked out from between the pillar and carriage and was being pulled along through the streets by the strange woman. They ran hand-in-hand fast and hard, the large man right on their heels as the two desperately tried to get to safety. When he heard gunshots, everything began to pass Fridge by in a blur. He hardly noticed at all where he was headed, let alone when the guiding grip on his wrist had disappeared. The only thing that processed in his mind in that moment was to keep on running. The path luckily was now clear of any innocent townsfolk, allowing him a straight shot to wherever he was running to without a worry of running someone over.

He made a sharp left, only to be stopped dead in his tracks as he saw a large brick wall directly in front of his previously clear path. He was in a dead end. He just barely noticed a gleam of light in the corner of his eye and he darted his gaze towards the fast movement, only to see something soaring through the air right towards his face.

Just as the object had gotten mere inches away from his nose, a hand shot out and caught the deadly weapon mid-flight. Fridge blinked hard, his dark eyes nearly going cross-eyed as he tried to see what had been thrown at him. It was a knife. Fridge was so overcome with stunned relief that he very nearly crumpled to his knees.

His eyes followed up the large, muscular arm of his savior, and Fridge came face-to-face with the face of Spencer. Spencer glanced down at him, silently asking if he was alright. "I hate this game," was the only thing Fridge could muster up to say.

The man that had thrown the dagger charged, but Spencer met him halfway. He reared back his arm and slammed the man into a table, then literally threw him up into the ceiling. Fridge, along with Bethany and Martha - who he had only just realized were also there - could only gape at their nerd of a friend in pure awe, completely stunned with the new-found strength as he skillfully dodged and attacked the four remaining bad guys; he had even managed to punch one through a brick wall and snap another's neck.

However, their victory was short-lived as a loud gun shot went off right behind them. The four whipped around with startled shrieks, only to be met by their remaining pursuers. The larger men were standing shoulder-to-shoulder across the alleyway, successfully boxing them into the small area and blocking their only means of see-able escape. They had been caught.

In the lead of the men stood another; he wasn't quite as bulky or as broad as the other men, but he was taller and still very muscular. He looked at the four teenagers as intently as a hawk would study its pray, with his head cocked to the right and a sneer on his tanned face. Fridge couldn't help but be reminded of the previous school year in his zoology class. They had been studying amphibians, so the class was required to dissect frogs. He could remember exactly what he had felt in that moment as well as he could the day he made his first touchdown.

It was the strange feeling of having complete control over something; the growing feeling of learning everything there was to know about something so small with a simple passing glance; the quick feeling of disgust after the curiosity had passed. He had felt all of that for a simple science project - for a long-dead frog used for learning. Now __he__ was the frog, and this man was the unamused scientist studying his trapped specimen from underneath the dark shadows of the buildings.

"Man, I hate this game," Fridge said again, backing up further away from the threatening men.

"Quick, Fridge," Spencer elbowed the shorter man. "Get my boomerang."

"Yeah, okay," he said, quickly slinging his backpack over his shoulder while not allowing his eyes to leave the image of the horrifyingly towering men. He flipped open the top flap of the bag and began rummaging through its contents with haste. The longer his hands searched, the more anxious he grew. He even dared to look away from the danger and further rummage through the contents of his bag, but to no avail. "Um, Spence?" he said, his voice cracking slightly. "It's not in here."

"What? What do you mean it's not in there?"

"I mean, it's not in here!"

"How can it not be there?"

"I don't know how it's not in here, but the thing ain't in here!"

"Hey Mouse," they heard a honey-smooth voice call. All eyes turned to the wall behind them, and Fridge was instantly met with the sparkling green eyes of the stranger from before. Her face held nothing but laughter as she sat on the edge of the rock wall, swinging her crossed legs without a care in the world. "Looking for this?" she cooed, holding up Spencer's boomerang. She laughed at the look of bewilderment and shock on their faces as she dangled the wooden weapon carelessly within her fingers. She tossed the boomerang up into the air and snatched it back, her grip tightened around the object as she swung her legs around to the opposite side of the wall. Using her unoccupied hand, she kissed the tips of her fingers delicately and blew a kiss. "Good luck," she sang with a wink. Then she was gone, the only evidence that she was ever there being the gentle laughter that echoed through the small space and buzzed around their heads.

Fridge stomped his foot, his face scrunched in both fear and anger as he did so. "Man, I __hate__ this game!"

The group turned their attention back to the men in front of them, all of whom looked mildly confused at what had just taken place. All but the tall stranger with the single blind eye. He stared at the vacant spot the girl was seated just moments before with an indifferent look, then back to the group of four. With a dark leer, the man spoke in a low, demanding tone that turned the group to ice. __"Get me that stone."__ His men were instantly snapped back to reality. Without a moment's hesitation, they began closing in on the small group, readying their weapons as they did so.

The group huddled close together, eyes darting around the enclosed area, all silently trying to find a means of escape that didn't involve the wrong end of a gun. The men raised their weapons and took aim as evil, broken grins spread across their gruff faces. The group could do nothing but huddle closer together and pray for a miracle.

A miracle came, then, with a quick shout and smoke bombs. As a dark gray cloud of smoke began to fill the air, another stranger jumped from the shadows and began quickly ushering the small group of four away from the chaos and into the safety of a nearby building as gunfire began to ring out. The last thing they heard was an icy, booming voice shouting, __"kill them!"__ and the loud stomps of heavy footsteps chasing after them before they took cover in an underground tunnel, not yet fully understanding what had just happened, who the tall man with the icy stare was, or the blonde woman who stole Spencer's boomerang right from under Fridge's nose, or if the woman was a friend or enemy.

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 _ **A/N: Hope** **you** **enjoyed! Please follow and favorite** **if** **you** **did, and a comment to tell me** **any** **pointers or** **notes** **you may** **have. Love keeps me going :***_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Sorry this one is kinda long; I just couldn't bring myself to cut it in two!**_

 _ **Hope you enjoy :)**_

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The young woman lounged back in her hammock, lazily throwing and catching the wooden boomerang continuously as she let the warm breeze swing her gently back and forth. Her green eyes were trained on nothing in particular as she caught the delicately carved wooden stick once more, listening to the sound of the birds singing their songs and little monkeys chattering away without a care in the world.

The sun was slowly falling from the sky as the moon prepared to rise, causing warm and cool colors to fight for the remaining spaces in the sky. The receding streaks of light beamed from the enormous bowl of blue, trying to touch as much of the jungle as it could before the twilight finally beckoned the stars. Vermilion, sangria, and amethyst emblazoned the sky in a great mix of smears and smudges, then darkens to obsidian.

The ever-growing dusk was a welcomed source of peace for the woman. It was her favorite time; it wasn't fully day, and yet it wasn't fully night either. It was just... _Peaceful_. She leaned further back into the ropes of the hammock and breathed in the scent of the surrounding forest, a semblance of a smile forming on her dark lips as she sighed sweetly. In that serene moment, she allowed her mind to think back to earlier that day; back to the marketplace.

As soon as her eyes had spotted them, she knew what they were. The strange group wandering the marketplace that day were not simply NPCs the game had conjured up. No, there were four new players added to the game. And if luck was on her side, one of them was carrying the Jewel. And maybe this new group would finally help her and her companion get back home.

The game _Jumanji_ had the unfavorable habit of adding in certain levels that could only be completed successfully by a player with certain skills; skills in which neither she nor her fellow comrade Alex Vreeke possessed. The two had tried on multiple different occasions to complete the game on their own, but the more they had tried the more it became apparent that the game could only be beaten when all six of the character avatars were occupied.

Emma had been in the game for years; well, at least, that's what it felt like to her. She knew that she couldn't have been in the game for a couple of months at most, but it felt a good deal longer. The first week she had arrived in the new world, every day seemed to rush past her in the blink of an eye. Now the days dragged on and the most she did in a day was going to the market or some other small village town. She and Alex both had long since stopped trying to defeat the game.

To start the game, a player is given three lives. Alex had already lost two when Emma had met him, and she had done everything to preserve her only three. Ever since she had lost her first life to falling off a cliff while trying to beat the next level of the game, the two had decided to lay low for a while. They couldn't afford to play the unbeatable game.

And now, here they were; all six players ready to finish the game and destroy the curse for good.

The new players had not been in the game for very long – at least, not to her knowledge – and already they had caused the game to act significantly different than what it had with both her and Alex. One particular thing that stood out to her was exactly who had shown up in the village that evening. Yes, she had fought the random goons driving motorcycles on many different occasions, but never before had she seen __him__.

In all honesty, there wasn't much reason for her to remember that one man out of the entire group of thugs that had arrived to kill the four new players. After all, he seemed to be just like every other bad guy the game seemed to never run short of. And yet, there still was something different about him; something she could not put her finger on but definitely noticed. He was very intriguing, and she found herself wanting to see him again.

The sound of a loud conversation quickly intruded into her thoughts, and the sound could not have met her ears any sooner. The heavy clumping of footsteps against the old wooden stairs lightly shook the large tree house they were in, causing her hammock to swing a bit more. Once the group had stepped up onto the balcony, she spared a glance over her shoulder to make sure her only friend was truly with them. She easily spotted his scruffy, handsome face and the untrimmed black hair of the young man and she smirked. "It's about time you got here, Seaplane," she called out to him. The plethora of voices had stopped as soon as they heard her own, and she could feel the four strangers all staring at her, startled by her sudden reveal.

"Hey, isn't that the girl from the marketplace?" she heard a faintly familiar voice start uncertainly. The accusation in his tone was quickly evident to her, but it only made her smile as he shouted and jabbed an accusing finger at her. "She stole from my backpack!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said sweetly, feigning ignorance. The group easily saw through her act.

"Hey- that's my boomerang!" shouted another man.

"Here, take it -" she tossed the boomerang over her shoulder with no warning, causing Spencer to just barely catch it before it smashed against his chest - "I was bored with it anyway." As she said this, she pushed herself up from the hammock and jumped down. The group instantly took notice of the elegant way she moved, the softness of her steps as her toes gently touched the floor. When she turned to the group her face broke out into a smile, one that was both kind and mischievous. She stalked towards them as quietly as a cat would when stalking its prey, and that's exactly how they felt when pinned under her striking green gaze.

"Everyone," Alex announced with a broad smile of his own. He cuffed an arm around her thin shoulders and brought her into a firm side-hug. "This is the chick I was telling you about!" He gave her a tight squeeze, chuckling when she passed him a glare at his rough-handling. Giving him a playful roll of her eyes, she met the group with a welcoming smile and an outstretched hand.

"Hello," she said in a soft, yet sturdy, voice. "My name's Emma Adams; player Jessie Jinx. A pleasure to meet you." She offered her hand to Spencer, who stared at her small appendage with suspicion. He wasn't completely sure if he should trust her, seeing as how she had stolen his boomerang, however, Alex seemed to trust her. Alex had saved their lives and already he was proving to be a welcomed addition to the group.

Spencer decided, then, that if Alex trusted her, then he would, too. Besides, she had returned his boomerang with no fuss or lies. His large hand enveloped hers. "Spencer Gilpin. I'm, uh, also Dr. Bravestone."

"I thought you were him," she said and shook his hand, her grip surprisingly firm. She moved on to greet the next two, which happened to be Bethany and Martha. She was quite eager in getting to know the two, her smile honestly excited. "You don't know how boring it can get when all you have for company is __him__ ," she jabbed her thumb at Alex, who feigned at being hurt by the comment. Emma rolled her eyes while the girls giggled. She moved on to the last one of the group. She smiled and stuck out her hand for him just as she had with the others, however, he did not take her up on her friendly gesture quite as easily as the others had.

"I ain't shaking her hand," Fridge shook his head while shooting daggers at the woman and crossing his arms firmly and securely. "She might __steal__ it if I do."

Emma blinked in surprise at his harsh words, honestly shocked by his hostility. Then, she began to laugh. Her steady laughter grew to the point she had to cover her mouth with one hand while the other wrapped around her stomach as she doubled over. The chuckles were soft and airy and they sounded terribly foreign in the suddenly tense atmosphere. The cotton-laughter were sparks in the dangerously electric air and the group began to feel uncomfortable, almost as though they believed a real explosion would happen if her laughter continued any further.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Mouse - I'm not laughing at you," Emma managed to finally say between gasp for air as her laughter began to die down. "I'm simply not used to people getting mad at me for stealing. It caught me off guard."

"Not used to it?" his brow scrunched and his frown deepened as he exclaimed. "What do you mean "not used to it"? How the hell would people __not__ get mad at that?"

"Well, usually the townspeople don't catch me." She almost seemed proud of this reveal, showing a care-free smirk and raising her head just a bit more. The group wasn't sure how to feel about it and they awkwardly shuffled from foot to foot, trying to make sense of what she had said. Seeing their confused stares, Alex decided to step in. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders once again, this time choosing to ruffle her golden hair in the process, to which he received a playful swat on the chest.

"Emma here is my little thief," he stated, looking somewhat proud, just as she had. "It's one of her weaknesses, so don't get too hurt by it."

"A weakness?" Spencer spoke up, his face scrunched in a similar confused look as the rest of his group. "Why would stealing be a weakness?"

Alex gave a nonchalant shrug while he began picking small twigs out of her hair. "We're not sure. We figured it had something to do with her backstory, though. You really need clean out the hammock before you jump in, Jinx."

She huffed lightly and crossed her arms over her chest, then gave a queer look to the group that caused both Bethany and Martha to giggle lightly. She always hated when Alex turned his"big brother" mode on. Although, she knew she couldn't live without it.

Trying to ignore the prodding of her hair from Alex. "Sorry about the boomerang fiasco. It's just that, we don't see very many people who aren't NPC's. Actually, we haven't met anyone other than you guys, and we kinda took advantage of that."

"So, you were just pulling a prank?" Fridge deadpanned.

Emma shrugged her shoulders lightly. "Yeah, I guess that's what it was."

"And you knew those goons were coming?"

"Oh, no!" both she and Alex exclaimed as Emma quickly shook her head. "No, we had no idea they would be there. That was just a coincidence. If we had known, we'd have gotten you all out of there a lot sooner."

Spencer asked, "but, you knew that Alex would save us when you took off?"

"Yeah," Alex confirmed, flicking a twig he had pulled from Emma's hair with his fingers. "It was short notice, but we had a plan. Kinda. It worked out well enough, at least. It was pretty rad, though!" The group all passed their own glances about themselves, not completely sure what to make of what they had just heard. Their lives were never truly in danger, and that was a relief.

"Hey, guys?" Bethany suddenly spoke up. Her brow was scrunched in uncertainty, however, she also seemed somewhat sure of herself. "Didn't that guy from the beginning say something about Emma?"

Martha's face brightened with her own realization and she nodded, confirming Bethany's suspicions. "Yeah, I think so. Wasn't she apart of Dr. Bravestone's group?" She looked to Emma, who only gave her a clueless look.

"Don't ask me – your guess is better than mine."

"You're right," Spencer said, nodding to both Bethany and Martha. "Nigel mentioned her, but I don't think she was in the cutscene. I think her and the group had a falling out before the events of the game took place. Must have had something to do with her weakness. Why don't you remember your backstory?"

Emma, who had been trying to silently fight off Alex's advances in picking out sticks from her tangled hair, turned to messing with his own black locks. "I never met Nigel. You really need a haircut, Seaplane." She had said it so simply that the group almost didn't catch it, but when they did, it hit them as suddenly as a rushing train. They all shouted their own concerns and questions, although the one that was most asked was "you didn't meet Nigel?".

Alex plucked at a stick that was tangled a bit more than the rest, causing a small spark of pain to blossom across her temple. She yelped out in pain and slapped his hand away, to which he only laughed. She glared, however his laughter was infectious and she felt her own smile tugging at her lips. Trying and failing to hid her growing smirk, she slapped her palm against his chest and lightly shoved him away. "Rude," she huffed. "Now you have to make me an apology margarita."

"I know that's supposed to be a punishment, but I __will__ go do that because I want one, too." With that, Alex went around the homemade wooden bar and began setting up to make the alcoholic drink.

"I'm going to give you a haircut later, too!" Emma called, laughing at the groan of agony from the young man. When she turned back to the group before her, she was surprised to see them all looking at her with wide, expectant eyes and dwindling patients. "Oh, right. Yeah, I never met Nigel." She turned and began walking back towards her hammock, this time brushing away the what twigs or leaves had fallen before jumping back up on it.

The group of four followed her with their eyes, still trying to gather exactly why and how she had not met the one thing in all of __Jumanji__ that even half explained what __Jumanji__ even was. Spencer cleared his throat in order to get her attention and he questioned loudly, "so, why haven't you met Nigel, exactly?"

"Stranger danger," she shrugged nonchalantly. "I had just been sucked into a video game and dropped into the middle of an unfamiliar jungle. Within the first five minutes of my landing from being dropped from the sky, I was being chased by hippopotamuses and monkeys were throwing rotten fruit at me. I wasn't about to jump into the first vehicle I came across; especially one where a strange man was already driving it. Who knows what could have happened!" She said it as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. At the time it had seemed logical to the group, but with the way she had put it, they almost felt embarrassed by their choice - even though it was the correct one.

"So, does that mean you don't have the Jewel?" Martha asked. Emma shook her head. After shuffling around in the hammock for a few seconds, she managed to shimmy a rather large hunting knife out from somewhere – whether it was a holster strapped to her hip or from inside her boot, the group wasn't sure – and began to clean her nails with the tip of the blade. "So then, there are two Jewels?"

"I don't have a Jewel either," Alex told Martha. He had already mixed the tequila and triple sec with a blender and was now pouring it into six, salt-rimmed glasses. "You see, besides making margaritas, flying is one of my strengths. Although I did get shot down by a couple of orangutans in fighter jets, so maybe not _that_ great at it. You see, I had put the Jewel in a sack and had tossed it in the back, so when my plane went down and I was reanimated, the Jewel wasn't with me when I dropped."

"What does that mean?" Bethany questioned. Alex brought out a knife, followed by a bright yellow and dull green objects from somewhere behind the bar. He set the two fruits on the table and then pointed the knife at Bethany.

"Lemon or lime?" he asked.

"Lime me up!" Fridge said eagerly. Alex smiled and nodded before he began to cut the green citrus fruit.

"It means, Bethany," Alex started again while slicing the lime in half, "if we lose the Jewel, we only have so long to find it before it pops back up in the beginning with Nigel."

A look of shock passed over the group and they all felt the creeping hand of worry grip around them. "Does that mean we'll have to start over?" Bethany urged Alex to continue, hoping he would tell them of some miracle way of regaining the Jewel.

He gave a shrug in response and Bethany's face fell. "I think so," he said. "After all, all of the traps reset at night, along with the villages and the people. It's like the game resets itself or something, and the only part that stays the same is the part that we're in. I can only imagine that the levels would reset too, so if we _did_ have to go back to get the Jewel, then we would have to re-do everything. So I guess we'll just have to hold on to this one, huh?" He said the last part with a smile as he held up two glasses filled with margaritas, handing one out to Bethany and the other to Fridge. Fridge wasted no time in snatching his glass while Bethany first looked over the beverage uncertainly. Once she had finally taken hers, Alex offered two more to Spencer and Martha. "Make yourself comfortable, dudes!" he said, to which the group nodded and lumbered off to find somewhere to sit and mull over the new information about the dreaded game.

Alex stuck a slice of lemon into the rim of the remaining glass that wasn't his. Fridge gave the drink one look and grimaced. When Alex handed the glass to Emma, Fridge made a grand show of displaying his distaste for the choice of fruit. "Why the hell would you put a lemon in a margarita?"

"I like lemons," Emma said simply, taking a sip of the alcoholic beverage. She smiled at the taste of the tequila and lemon that invaded her taste buds and she snuggled further into the hammock.

"Why the hell would anyone like __lemons__?" Fridge argued, trying to antagonize her further. However, she wasn't reacting in the way he had hoped.

She simply smiled and moved an arm under her head as a rest. "Lemons are a beautiful, bright color, while the inside is so sour and dull. And yet, some people still like them. I'm not exactly sure why, though, Dr. Mouse." She took another sip and sighed blissfully.

"Stop it with the "Dr. Mouse" already, alright?"

Emma hummed softly and smirked. "I think we're going to be __great__ friends, Mr. Mouse."

"My name ain't Mouse! It's __Fridge__ , got it?" he huffed and took a larger-than-needed gulp of his drink, very nearly downing the entire cup. Emma only laughed softly, her eyes fluttering shut as she stifled a yawn. The darkness of the night had finally overtaken the brightness of the sun, and the activities of the day had gotten to them all as they all began to yawn. All except Fridge, who got Alex to make him another margarita. "These things are great!"

Spencer and Martha had tried their margaritas, however, they obviously had never had a margarita – or any alcohol, for that matter – and had set the glasses aside as soon as they had spit the liquid back into the cup. Bethany had set hers aside, too, the drink going untouched by her as she explored around the tree house. "What's up with all the candles?" she asked out of the blue.

"Alex's got a bug problem," Emma said with a laugh.

Alex threw a glare at his friend's back. "It's not a bug problem; it's a __mosquito__ problem." Bethany's brow scrunched and he quickly clarified, "mosquitoes are one of my weaknesses. Which is kind of a bummer when you live alone in an open hut out in the jungle."

Bethany nodded, then quickly turned away so as to hide her growing smile. __"He's single!"__

"What am I – chopped liver?" Emma asked with a pout.

Alex simple waved a dismissive hand her way and rolled his eyes. "You're like my sister; I __have__ to live with you." Emma was about to retaliate, but quickly cut herself short. It took a moment of thinking, but when she finally realized what he had said, she felt her chest swell. Had Miss Bethany caught the eye of her Little Alex? The thought made Emma smile. She hoped something would become of them – Lord knew Alex needed somebody.

A sudden frown tugged at her lips, the swelling in her chest changing to that of a sharp sting. If Alex got with Bethany, would that mean she would lose her only friend? Now that there were more people, would Alex abandon her? Will she be left alone again?

She took a large gulp of her margarita, successfully emptying the cup while driving away those unwanted thoughts. However, it only worked for so long. In order for her to get a good buzz, she needed in the very least four drinks, however, Alex was already fishing out the extra blankets to make pallets for the group of four and she didn't want to bother him this late. She'd have to deal with her thoughts.

Emma pushed herself up and jumped down from the hammock to helped Alex set up the beds. Then she cleaned the margarita glasses with a bucket of fresh rainwater. Luckily, she was able to at least drink Bethany's untouched glass. She could have had more, but she wasn't exactly up for drinking Spencer and Martha's spit drinks; no matter how much she longed for the airy, carefree feeling of alcohol. Fridge, however, seemed to be getting a bit wobbly in the knees and a good deal happier than what seemed to be his normal just from the two he had. He denied that he was drunk, although Emma had the feeling that if she had left the two tainted glasses of Spencer and Martha out, Fridge wouldn't have had any second thoughts.

Fridge, who had been wandering around the tree hut, suddenly called out,"who's this?" Emma glanced over to where he was standing and she knew what he was referring to instantly. "Who's Alan Parrish?" he asked again as he eyed the tree with the words _"Alan Parrish was here"_ carved into the thick branch.

"He's the guy who built this place" Alex called back to Fridge as he set out a blanket on the ground; a makeshift bed for one of the new four.

"Wait, you mean other people have been stuck here too?" asked Spencer with a similar bewildered look as Fridge, Bethany, and Martha.

"Well, yeah," Emma nodded. "I mean, this is Alan Parrish's house. We're just living in it."

With this newfound information about the strange and lethal video game, the group quickly fell silent as they decided to help Alex and Emma make their pallets. No one seemed to want to talk as they mulled over the thought of how many kids had been here before them, or how many had actually managed to get out.

With their beds made and the sun finally set, the group was finally able to lay down and get some sleep. However, sleeping seemed to be the last thing on their minds. "So, Alex, tell me," Bethany spoke lowly in case someone was asleep. Even so, her voice still seemed foreign in the cool jungle air. "How long have you and Emma been in the game?"

Alex breathed out a huff of air. "Ooh, it's tough to say; time is kinda funny here. A few months at least, right Em?" The group gasped in shock, all appalled by the thought of being stuck in the game for so long. "Yeah," he said again once everyone had quieted down. "I just can't seem to make it past the Transportation Shack."

"Transportation Shack? What's that?" questioned Martha.

"It's the next level of the game. The first time my hot air balloon wouldn't even take off, and then there was the whole plane thing I mentioned. And once I got down to my last life, I realized I was screwed. And that I was never going to get out of here by myself. Half the stuff that came at me I had zero way to deal with. You know, you can't kill a black mamba with a margarita."

"You're damn right!" Fridge slurred as he drunkenly puffed out his chest. You need a zoologist for that!"

Alex gave him a tight-lipped smile and a short nod; neither which truly reached his eyes. Emma could clearly see the downcasted look that clouded over him; she could see the hurt within his brown, sorrowful orbs. Alex had been in the game a lot longer than she had, and she knew it was hard for him not to be able to return home. She reached over and placed a small hand over his, giving it a comforting squeeze. His dark eyes flickered to her and she gave him an encouraging smile, one that he thankfully returned.

"Once I found Emma, I thought we had a chance," Alex started again, this time his voice holding a tone that she could not exactly place. It was not sad, and yet not entirely happy. He was glad to have her, but she knew he would have preferred his home. His tone was just, _thoughtful_. "But none of her strengths can help very much when we have an entire canyon to get across. So, we've just been chilling out here, trying not to get killed."

"But we can try again!" Spencer exclaimed, his excitement showing on his handsome face. "You and Emma have been here for a long time – you know the game. And between us, we've got a lot of strengths."

"Yeah," Mumbled Martha, looking up at the suddenly passionate Spencer with a look Emma could not place. "We're actually pretty good together." Emma smiled softly at the two. They seemed cute together. Her childish thoughts were quickly shattered when she saw the panic slowly overtaking Alex.

"Guys," she spoke up, her hand squeezing his a little firmer, "we can't risk it. At least, not now. We have no idea how the game will react to you guys and acting now will only cause more danger. We should wait before we do anything." The others looked close to persisting with coming up with some sort of plan, but Bethany stopped them. She also saw the horrified look in Alex's eyes and the way Emma held his hand so tenderly, and she knew that whatever Alex had been through must have been so much worse than what they had.

After Bethany had taken Alex and Emma's side in the argument, they all decided that they were too tired to argue any further and they let it go. The group of four shuffled and rolled on their blankets while Emma and Alex lounged in their hammocks, trying to get some sleep. The group was out as fast as a light once they had gotten comfortable; all except Emma.

The young woman laid back in her hammock, gazing up at the twinkling stars, wandering and contemplating a multitude of things as they passed through her mind. What would _Jumanji_ do now that all six players were playing? Would the traps get harder? The animals more dangerous? Would Alex be able to handle coping with the certainly new and dangerous environment? Would they be able to survive?

All of this and more swirled around her head like a raging storm. One thing in particular that kept jumping back into her mind, though, was the Jewel.

She wondered as to what it looked like and how big it was. She had never gotten the chance to see it since she had not received it from Nigel, and she had met Alex sometime after he lost it. She wondered what made it so special to the game and why those goons wanted it so badly. What good could there be in a simple stone?

Even _she_ thought that to be silly. She knew the corrupt needs of man's greed, so it really wasn't that surprising to her that so many people were after it. She was simply looking for a reason to be _this_ interested in it. It was a mere stone that the jungle wanted returned; nothing more, nothing less.

Then why was she still thinking about it? Why was her chest thumping so loudly in her chest? Why was it __calling__ to her?

It wasn't calling her, she told herself. It was merely interesting.

However, this did little to settle the feeling within her gut; the _tingling_ in her hands.

Before she realized what she was doing, she was out of her hammock. In even less time, she was standing over the sleeping Fridge, eyes glued to the discarded backpack next to him. __'I just want to see it,'__ she told herself.

As quietly as though she were a ghost of a breeze in the late autumn air, she fell to her knees next to the large bag and opened the flap. Her hands grazed against the many objects, mindful not to let them clang against each other. When her hand uncovered what must have been a shirt, her eyes widened.

The Jewel was big. No, it was __massive__. It must have been the size of her head! And it _glowed_. It glowed such a brilliant shade of peridot that she had to keep herself from gaping at the magnificent sight. Pins and needles were in the palms of her hands now; the same feeling she got when she wished to steal something of actual value – not the simple bread from a passing cart or fine jewelry - something truly costly and dangerous. Something __exhilarating__.

In that moment, she pulled herself away from the glowing object. She knew instantly that there was something wrong with the Jewel; something evil. She attempted to push herself up and go back to bed, however her body made no such movement. She stared unblinkingly at the closed sack, knowing very well what was just under that single flap of fabric.

 _ _'I'll just hold it for a few moments,'__ _her mind reasoned with her._ _ _'Just a few, harmless little moments.'__ It worked. Her hands were moving away the fabric of the sack and within mere seconds she was holding the Jewel.

A strange and sudden surge rushed through her and she nearly dropped the Jewel in shock. Instead, however, her small hands gasped the Jewel even tighter as she held it against her stomach as rushing electricity filled her, pulsated through her, __empowered__ her.

As soon as it had hit her, the feeling was gone. She was left silently gasping for the air that had been stolen from her, grasping the Jewel so tightly that her knuckles very well could have split from the tension. She blinked up at the stars, those same exact stars that she had been looking at ever since she had arrived at Jumanji, and noticed that they were different. Very different.

She didn't remember there being __this__ many stars before. Her ears perked up at the plethora of sound that suddenly hit them. When had the jungle become _t_ _ _his__ lively? She inhaled deeply; she could smell the freshly baking bread from the village, ready to be sold at the market in the morning, along with the smell of smoking wood, wet plants, and soil. Why was everything so... __clear__ now?

There was an odd shuffling, almost scratching sound off to her left. Her head jerked to the object as quick as a whip and her glowing eyes locked on to a tarantula. The creature was no bigger than her hand and it marched across the wood almost lazily, without a care in the world. With unblinking eyes, she stared at the eight-legged arachnid with a fiery intensity, watching as every one of its legs moved its fat, little body along; how its little hairs whisked in the breeze. It suddenly went rigged under her sturdy, unmoving gaze. Its entire body tensed up and it looked as though it were preparing to bolt, but instead, it turned to look at her.

She stared deeply into its dark, oil-drop eyes, her face devoid of any emotion, her mind bare of thought. A bright, electric spark of green flashed across the spider's eyes, and it was suddenly crawling towards her. Without thinking, she lowered a hand to the wooden floor palm-side up. The spider crawled into her hand without hesitation, and she brought the creature up to her face so she could inspect it. It stared back at her blankly, non-moving. Her eyes flickered down, then back up to the spiders. Then, it was moving up her arm. A wicked smile broke across her face; she was controlling the spider!

She twisted her arm around and back, moving it this way and that way, all the while telling the spider where to go. She almost laughed as she did so; it was as easy as moving a finger! She stopped the spider back in her palm and she brushed a finger gently across its back to gauge its reaction. It did nothing more than stare blankly back at her. It was as though the spider wasn't there anymore; just a hallowed out toy she could manipulate.

That was, until, its eyes flashed green once more. However, this wasn't like the previous bright flash; this green was darker in color, and she somehow knew that it wasn't her doing it. Now, as she stared into the eyes of the spider, it wasn't a simple empty case – something else was looking back at her. A cold, biting shiver raced down her spine as she stared into the cold eyes of a stranger, unable to look away as fear began to slowly pull at her chest. She found that she couldn't move, and she began to panic. She couldn't even scream for help.

With another dark green glint, the paralyzing presence was gone and she could suddenly breathe again. Her mind was racing and all of the power she had felt was gone. Her heart thundered in her ears as she breathed heavily, trying to calm herself down before she woke anyone up. A prickling on her palm caught her attention and she realized that she was still holding the spider. She almost didn't want to look back in its eyes in fear that the terrifying presence would be there, but when she finally willed herself to look at the spider, she knew nothing was there. At least, not anymore.

In fact, as she stared into the eyes of the arachnid, its eyes now bright black and shiny, she realized that even _she_ didn't have control over it anymore. It began to try and crawl back up her arm she quickly set it back to the ground, watching it as it began marching its way away from her, it previous lazy movements back like nothing had happened.

She then turned her gaze to the stone that sat on her lap, a million and one questions shooting through her mind. She could breathe normally now, and as the seconds ticked by she could finally think more clearly, too. She picked up the Jewel and held it up, inspecting every inch of it. Satisfied that nothing interesting would happen again, she set it back down. Her eyes moved to gaze out into the dense forest foliage, looking for what, she did not know.

All she knew was that the stone had done something to her - had given her something powerful – and someone out there was even more powerful than her. And they knew about her.

Things just got a lot more interesting.

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 _ **A/N: Did you like it? Did you hate it? Have any comments? I'd love to hear them! Please follow, favorite, and review to show me and this story some love :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Please read this important note before continuing:**_

 _ **To start off, I am one of those people who does not like to read - nor write - quick romances. I am all for fire flirting and cute crushes, but anything else (like love) just irritates me. It's completely unrealistic to the real world, and when a sudden love appears it just takes me out of the story. Although I will admit that some authors are able to pull this off (which has been happening in more and more popular books and movies as of lately), I for one have grown quite tired of them.**_

 _ **I'm a woman who needs a slow-burning love that starts out as a mere spark; a flame that is both beautifully exhilarating and terribly painful to behold as it grows, yet still has you coming back for the increasing burn. And you can't**_ _ **bare**_ _ **to stop coming back for more, and you keep prodding the glowing embers until you can no longer bare the fiery intensity raging within your chest. And**_ **that's** ** _when true love begins._**

 _ **Although I am sure my store will never be as great such as the one I have described for you above, I still don't want my story to be a sudden, "Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo,**_ ***poof*,** ** _romance_** ** _!" kind of thing._**

 _ **So, with that being said, I will be changing the future of the story. It's nothing too dramatic; I'll just be expanding the time Spencer and the group were in**_ **Jumanji** ** _so that I have more wiggle room to work with. I will add in some new, never before seen scenes, expand on further character growth, and I will attempt at writing and recreating the burning romance I love so much._**

 _ **Whew, glad I got that little rant off my chest, haha!**_

 **:Lulu:** **I would also like to give a shout out! (My first one ever!) First, thank you all so much for the comments; they motivate me to keep going! I just wanted to say a few quick things to** ** _Lulu_** **because she actually brought up a lot of good points in her comment that I would like to discuss real fast.**

 **For most of your questions, they will be answered later on in the story, but I'll answer as much as I can.**

 **Being a thief is not a crippling weakness for Emma. She can usually help herself around normal things, however the more interesting the object is, the harder it is to keep from stealing it. The Jewel – being a creation of the game – knew this and called to her, taking advantage of her weakness. And, yes, her thievery is one of the reasons her character had a falling out with Bravestone's group. As for her personality, Emma cares very greatly for Alex (reasons that will be later answered) and would never put him or anyone in harms way (she's actually very tender-hearted). One of her personal weaknesses that she brought back from the real world is the need to be strong and brave for everyone else, however, this sometimes blind-sights her and gets her and others into trouble because she fails to see the true magnitude of the situation. She always tries to give off the allusion that she is stronger and braver than what she really is and will do everything herself if it meant that no one else was harmed/bothered. Despite this, she is also pretty positive and doesn't realize how big a problem is until it's too late, then she feels responsible for the trouble. Hope I answered all of your questions! (At least the ones I can at this time). Thank you for the wonderful feedback!**

* * *

Emma Adams sighed wearily and rubbed the back of her hand across her brow, brushing away the beads of sweat that had formed from the heat of the early morning _Jumanji_ sunlight. The sun hadn't yet climbed its way fully over the horizon, but it was already enough to give Emma a piercing headache and she wished she had gotten more sleep. Despite the drumming of her head and the drooping of her eyes, she managed to keep them trained on the rolling hills below her, searching for any abnormal signs of movement against the tangled green foliage.

Emma was in the process of scouting out enemy troops. This was not a new thing to her, though. In fact, both her and Alex had mapped out many of the patrolling groups surrounding their area fairly well. They could guess which route a group would take, how many would be apart of the unit, and the time they would be patrolling an area. However, that had only ever been mere speculations.

The game was smart; it knew better than to keep the same routine every day. Although the days were very similar, certain things changed often enough that Emma and Alex would regularly keep tabs on troops or how active certain areas of the jungle were. Overall, nothing that would cause alarm for them had happened.

That was, until, Dr. Bravestone and his group had arrived.

Ever since they had spent their first night in Emma and Alex's treehouse, the spawn of bad guys had increased at an alarming rate. The units had tripled in number and carried a greater number and the scheduling of the patrols were greatly clustered, sometimes to the point the patrols were merely an hour behind one another. They were also packing much larger weapons than what Alex and Emma speculated was normal; and everything was utterly random. Emma was always so sure of what would come up from the other side of a hill or marched around a corner. Now she felt as she had the first day she played the game; completely unsure of herself and filled with anxiety.

Because so much had changed, Emma and Alex thought it best to lay low for a while; at least until the bad guy population decreased a bit more. After a few close calls when the group had decided to be stubborn instead of safe, they had finally agreed to stay put in the treehouse. No one wanted to take any unnecessary risk; they needed all the lives they could get if they were hoping to beat _Jumanji_.

At first, Emma was intrigued by the thought of something like this happening. Because she had mapped out the game so well, things had quickly become boring. Now she wished things would go back to the way they were. She felt so selfish and idiotic for ever wishing the game would do something different.

It was no longer just her and Alex now; she had an entire group to look out for. Maybe if it was still merely her and Alex in the game then she would feel different and things might be more fun, but that was no longer the case and now all she cared about was getting everyone through the day. She would have been lying if she said the first couple of days had not been fun and entertaining with all of the new and dangerous aspects of the game, however, after many members of the group had come too close to losing their life, she realized the severity of everything and that she needed to be more careful.

Emma's eyes darted to one of the larger hills after seeing a flash of black, however, it was only a bird. She let out an inaudible sigh and ran a hand over her face and up into her hair, knocking her topee off as she did so. She rested her arm against her knee and squeezed her eyes closed as her other hand pressed against her temple. She wished she had gotten more sleep. She had not been able to sleep in days. Ever since that incident with the Jewel, she had hardly even closed her eyes.

She hadn't told anyone what had happened. She didn't even tell Alex. She didn't want to tell him unless she absolutely had to. Of course, she wondered what it would be like to tell everyone; maybe she could even use her new-found powers to defeat _Jumanji_ and send everyone home quickly and safely. However, she knew this could not happen. She didn't even know what _this_ was, or how to properly use it – if she even could. So far she could only manipulate bugs, and only for a short length of time before her powers died out for the night. She wasn't even sure if she should call this a power.

This is why she had not yet told anyone. How could she when she didn't even know what it was?

She couldn't lie to herself. The real reason she had not told Alex is that she was afraid. Afraid of how he would react - afraid of what he would do. Even if by some miracle he didn't immediately abandon her, she knew him; he would start constantly worrying about her and trying to keep her out of any possible danger. He would be overprotective.

Their relationship had always been fifty-fifty. They had each other's backs - they looked out for each other _equally_ and it had worked perfectly this far. If that changed and Alex spent all of his time looking out for her and he ended up losing his life because of it, she would never be able to forgive herself. She couldn't risk him for something that she didn't understand – _something she could handle herself_ – so she kept her mouth shut.

Against the horizon, she saw movement. A few moments later, the troop she had been looking out for were marching down the grassy hill, plowing down a pathway in their wake. Making sure she was well hidden behind the brush, Emma dared to peak out further onto the edge of the rocky outcrop she was crouched on. She counted sixteen men this time around; four less than the day before. Their numbers were decreasing and their patrols were becoming less frequent.

She watched the marching unit as they passed right below her, completely unbeknownst that one of their enemies was literally right on top of them. When the troop came to a fork in the path around a quarter of a mile from where Emma sat hidden, they turned right. She concluded, then, that they should be the last group to pass by that area until late that evening. The first group that had passed by had come from the small village a mile to the left of the fork. That meant that this part of the jungle would be clear for at least a couple of hours.

Being absolutely sure that the group wasn't going to double back – something they didn't do often but had done before – she stood from her crouched position and stretched her arms above her head and twisted her body left and right, popping her stiff back in the process. She wiped her brow once more before placing her hat back on top her head and gazed across the rolling valley, looking for anything suspicious or worrying. After a few moments of scoping out the area and making sure that everything was clear, she headed back to the treehouse.

As she stealthily made her way through the forest, careful to make as little sound as possible in case a passing patrol or predator was prowling the area, Emma couldn't help but notice _everything_. It appeared to be a side effect from the so-called "powers" of the Jewel. Every small animal that scampered about the forest floor or tiny bug that crawled on a branch or buzzed around her head had become painfully obvious to her. The loud chirping and buzzing of the creatures echoed in her ears and the fresh smell of wet leaves and soil invaded her nose in a way she had never experienced before. It took all of her self-control not to try and use her powers on something. Her right hand twitched lightly at the very though, but she restrained herself. She had learned her lesson about the consequences of over-using her powers the first night she had gotten them.

Once she had laid down and had the opportunity to actually process what had happened that fateful night just three weeks before, the true magnitude hit her like a brick to her chest. When it was happening, it hadn't registered to her just how insanely dangerous touching the stone was. She had no idea what had gotten in her to make her think that any contact with that Jewel whatsoever would be alright. Now she was stricken with a curse – or, _something_.

Had something else really been looking back at her? Or was that just a mix of the spider's gaze and her tired mind? She couldn't be sure, and not knowing absolutely annoyed her to no end. All throughout that night she was either tossing and turning about on her hammock or waking from a restless hour-long nap, her mind a mix of confusing emotions and thoughts that refused to let her rest.

When she had awoken for the eighth time that night and saw the first beams of the horizon peaking out from behind the treeline, she knew she would not be getting anymore sleep that morning. Emma never was one to stay in one place for long. She wasn't a fan of doing nothing nor did she like being alone, but she didn't want to wake up Alex. So, deciding to do some light exercising until the rest of the group woke up, she swung herself out of her hammock.

This plan was quickly discarded, though, when she realized the person sitting on the edge of the treehouse. She could tell by their small stature that it was Fridge. He was seated silently on the edge of the balcony as he watched the slowly rising sun, his legs swinging off the side as he silently took in the jungle dawn. Emma saw this as her chance to speak with him without the constant watchful eyes of the group; to attempt to mend their distrustful relationship. It had been three weeks since their meeting and their relationship was still a little rocky. She didn't want her stupid excuse for a joke to be the reason they couldn't be friends, so she decided to apologize to him. However, as soon as she had sat down next to him he had pointed out her apparently obvious lack of sleep in a way that only Fridge could.

She went to retort back in the same snapping way he had, however, the words he used to cut her off turned her very core to ice.

"What's up with your eye?" he had asked. Thinking he was referring to crust left over from her attempt at sleep, she quickly shot up a hand to her left eye, rubbing at it with the palm of her hand. "No, not that eye – the right one," he said, trying to peer around her arm to get a better look at her. "It's all foggy-looking."

Her heart very well could have dropped to her feet at this, and she wasted no time in jumping up from her spot and rushing for the stairs of the treehouse and towards the first-floor room. That area was mostly used for when there was a storm and they couldn't sleep outside, so it didn't have much furniture besides what had been left behind by Alan Parrish – the man who had built the treehouse. The walls were spotted with strange paintings and old maps while the few shelves carried strange nick-knacks and artifacts – all of which either she, Alex, or Alan Parrish had found during their travels of _Jumanji_.

On one of the walls hung a mirror. The frame was made of beautifully carved elephant tusk encrusted with rubies and gold, and she had fallen in love with the thing the very moment she had laid her eyes on it. It was quite a task smuggling _that_ out of the marketplace, and she was eager to eventually tell the new members of the group the story. Now she wasn't sure if she should be grateful for the mirror or not.

She stared wide-eyed into the reflective glass, looking at herself in horror. Her left eye stared back at her; the same, emerald green colored orb she had grown up with. Her right eye, however, was just as Fridge had said – _foggy_.

Underneath the grayish-white film that had settled over it, she could scarcely see the familiar green of her eye. However, it was faint beneath the fog. Her eye looked like a swirling storm of misting water over a dark forest. That wasn't an exaggeration; the fog was literally _swirling_ like a hurricane. As the smoke whirled in a tight circle, it began slowly dissipating until it had finally dispersed and disappeared. Her eye was back to normal; the same, emerald green as the other.

In a state of shock at what she had just witnessed, she slowly and awkwardly made her way back up to the balcony; a million and one questions jumping around her mind. She knew what had happened had something to do with the Jewel, but that was all she knew. When Fridge asked her what was wrong, she forced herself to flash him a smile. "It was nothing," she said. "It does that when I don't get enough sleep." He didn't seem to fall for her lame excuse, however, the others had begun to wake and he chose to leave it at that.

Ever since that incident, she hadn't even _looked_ at the Jewel, let alone try and use her powers again. Although, that did not quiet the urge within her to do so.

"It's about time you got here," she heard as she climbed the familiar wooden stairs to the balcony, the snarky tone snapping her out of her thoughts. Fridge was lounging in her hammock, looking just as bored as he had the day before and the day before that. Emma felt bad for him and the others; they didn't want to sit around the treehouse, hoping for something exciting to happen – they wanted to go _home_. Alex and Emma wanted to go home as well. Sadly, they had grown used to sitting and waiting. "Did you have fun _stealing_?" She suddenly felt less sorry.

Ignoring Fridge and his biting comment, she instead made her way to Alex, who eagerly awaited her report. "Anything different?" he asked.

"A unit of twenty left the West Village and headed North while a unit of sixteen headed further West. They were an hour apart and both carried light-weight weapons."

"That makes five patrols, right?" Alex asked, to which Emma nodded. "That means the West part of the jungle should be clear for the rest of the night."

"Yeah," said Emma, "up until late tomorrow morning or early noon. Anything new in the East?"

"The routs were the same. There were sixteen men in each group and their weapons were the same as yesterday."

"What does that mean?" Martha spoke up, the rest of the group baring the same eager looks as she.

"Can we leave the treehouse yet?" Spencer asked, his eyes darting from Emma to Alex. The group of four had now eagerly grouped around Alex and Emma, desperately awaiting the good news that they could leave the treehouse and actually do something besides sit around.

Alex quickly held up a hand to the anxious group. "Now wait a minute guys," he said as he shook his head. "It's too late to do anything tonight and we're not sure what it will be like tomorrow."

His words were met with a chorus of disappointed moans as Martha, Bethany, Spencer, and Fridge slumped and pouted. Emma eyed the sunken four sadly. She didn't like being cooped up in the treehouse any more than them, however, she didn't have much room to complain. While they were stuck betting on snail races every day, she was out watching over either the Western or Northern side of the jungle. At least she got the chance to see something new. Then, Emma perked up as she suddenly got a spectacular thought.

"Wait, Alex," she said quickly as her lips began to form a beaming grin. "The West half is clear for the night, right?"

"Yeah," he said, his brow raised as he tried to guess at what she was suggesting.

"Well, doesn't that mean the West Village is, too?" Her smile grew even more at the thought.

Alex knew what she was insinuating as instantly as her sweet words were out and his own lips quirked into a smirk. "I guess it is. Hey guys," he turned to the confused group, who were all nervously shifting their expectant gaze from Emma to Alex, then back again. "Who want's to go to a party?"

And that's how the group found themselves stumbling through the dark jungle trees and bushes, trying not to lose sight of Emma and Alex as they lead the way to wherever – or, whatever - the West Village was. They weren't sure for how long they had been following the eager pair, but they were all beginning to get agitated with their constant prodding and desperate urging along. They both were practically galloping through the dark with excitement as they occasionally threw a "hurry up!" over their shoulders.

It wasn't until they had arrived at the shore of a small creek when they heard cheerful sounds on the wind. They followed the creek upstream towards the loud mingle of voices and music and a few minutes later there was light to accompany the joyful sounds. After climbing up a small hill, the group of six finally found themselves on the edge of the West Village.

The Village was small and the homes were built into a large circle around the town square. Currently inside the large, open space were the people. Some were dancing and singing or playing an instrument while others were talking on the sidelines; not yet drunk enough to have their go on the dance floor.

Emma spared a glance at the others and was happy to see their eyes widen and their stunned smiles form. Alex noticed too, this giving him all the courage he needed to step in front of the group and welcome them with a dramatic wave of his hand and a bow. "Welcome, my dear lads and ladies, to your official welcoming party!" he announced broadly with a stiff, announcer voice. He straightened up and, still with his stoic butler persona, began giving the group a tour of the place with a simple pointing of his finger. "Over there you will see our special live band performing before the dance floor. And over here we have some of our lovely staff ready to fill your cups to the brim as you so will need-" Emma stepped up and elbowed him in the side.

"Alright, dial it back there, Seaplane," she joked as he and the group let out a laugh. Although Spencer, Martha, Bethany, and Fridge's all seemed airy and disbelieving.

"It's been so long since I've seen a human being!" Bethany breathed out. Spencer nodded, but his brow quickly scrunched as he realized what she had said.

"Wait, but we're all human-"

"You guys don't count," she quickly interrupted him. "After spending three weeks with you guys, you all have become animals."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Fridge suddenly jumped into the conversation with a beaming, hopeful smile and a loud, "it means you all stink and I need a drink. Now let's go!" He began charging into the village square, but Emma quickly snatched his arm and pulled him back.

"Wait, guys, you can't go yet!" she whispered loudly, trying not to draw any unwanted attention to themselves.

Fridge stomped his foot and whined. "Aw man, why not?"

"Because we have some things to go over first," said Alex, sending a quick warning glare to whoever looked like they were going to try and make a run for it. When he decided that everyone was going to stay put the moment he let his guard down, he spoke in a loud and firm tone, "alright, we still don't know a hundred percent whether or not this place is clear of patrol. If you notice anything weird, gather up as many of the others as you can without drawing attention to yourself and meet back here.

"If something happens and we get split up, find the creek and follow it downstream until you get to a small pond. The pond isn't too far from the treehouse, but I'd rather you stay there than get lost trying to find it. If anyone goes missing then either me or Emma will check the pool every morning and evening."

"We have also carefully hidden weapons throughout the villages, so unless you've somehow gotten yourself far enough to where we haven't mapped it, you should be good," added Emma with a pleasant smile.

"But, how will we know where the weapons are?" Martha asked.

Emma waved a hand dismissively. "We didn't really hide them all that well. The villagers don't even notice them."

"Are there any other questions?" questioned Alex. After waiting for a few moments with no one speaking, his lips formed a lop-sided smirk. "Well alright then! Let's go have a good time! And by the way, welcome to Jumanji!"

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 _ **A/N: Hey guys! Been a while, huh? Well, I wanted to apologize about that. I've been dealing with a lot lately. My school work has piled up so much, my boyfriend broke up with me and has been making me feel like a monster because of it, and I've been stalked by a forty-something-year-old man who stole my dad's phone and thinks it's okay to constantly text me pretending to be my dad (like he thinks I'm stupid and don't know how my own dad text). It's all just really stupid and stressful and I'm sorry I haven't updated like I should. I'll try to do better!**_

 _ **I was supposed to have two chapters up this time, but chapter 4 is still under construction and I really wanted to get this out. So chapter 4 should be done by tomorrow. I know that these past chapters may be a bit boring, but I really want to dive into the actual characters more than what the movie had, so I just needed to get some of the background blugh stuff out. And don't worry, our two special characters will finally be meeting up**_ **very** _**soon ;)**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Hey guys! Here's chapter 4! Things are really getting crazy in this one ;)**_

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 **playlist: _Lost Girls_ by Lindsey Stirling.**

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As soon as she had stepped out from the shelter of the old hut's shadow, Emma had almost immediately been swept into the mass of dancing bodies by some man who was too drunk to realize that she was a stranger. Thankfully, the entire village seemed to be that way, so no one noticed the six newcomers wander into their village. Alex and Emma already knew they wouldn't have to worry about being discovered, though. They had been to this specific village many times before. There were three other villages that they knew of that had some little celebration at night, but the West Village was their favorite.

These events were just one way out of a hundred where both Emma and Alex could forget about where they were. Or, at least, pretend to forget.

Emma didn't like to admit it, but before Alex had found her, she was in a bad place. At first all she bothered herself with was trying to get back home. She very nearly drove herself into the ground trying to defeat the game. After being stolen from your home and family – _your very world_ \- and dropped into the dangerous jungle of an actual video game, Emma couldn't imagine anyone acting any different than what she had.

Unfortunately, Alex had already had his run-in with death twice before their meeting. He had first lost a life from being bit by a black mamba, then by crashing a plane while trying to cross the canyon. He refused to risk himself again, for one last mistake would truly be the end of him. Alex was the only thing that could have gotten her back home, and he had already given up on beating the game.

With this daunting realization stuck in her mind, Emma soon fell into a depression. She gave in to her stealing impulse to the point she didn't even know what she was stealing. Once she discovered the nighttime celebrations, she would be found at the villages downing whatever alcoholic beverage she could get her hands on and acting like everything was merely one big joke. During the day, she would be found asleep wherever she had passed out the night before. She just didn't care anymore; she had lost hope.

Alex helped her to get through this. He continued to let her stay in the treehouse with him even when she was openly bitter and angry towards him. He stayed by her side every single night and made sure she didn't get into trouble, no matter how drunk she had gotten or what stupid thing she did. And he was there when she was finally able to let reality sink in and she needed a shoulder to cry on. After that specific night, she decided to finally pull herself together; and he was there to help her along the way.

And this is how Alex saved her life, as well as how she saved his.

Because she hadn't known him before, Emma didn't take notice of the almost overgrown look he had. She didn't realize the dirty and un-kept clothes that he wore. She didn't know that the scruffy beard and shaggy hair wasn't him- she just assumed that was his character.

It took her losing herself for him to regain his life. Her needing someone's support and comfort was his wake up call. When Emma was brought into his life, Alex knew he had to pull himself together in order to save her. He knew he had to help her because she was going through exactly what he was going through. He was hit just as hard by this entire situation as she had been - the only difference was that he had to fix himself while she had him to lean on.

She hadn't known it at the time, but he needed someone's help just as much as she did. And with this downfall and rise, they helped save each other. And it is this reason that Emma Adams would give her everything to protect Alex.

Emma laughed heartily as she was spun and dipped by whoever happened to be her partner for the song, passed around from villager to villager as the songs changed. She had even gotten to dance with some children before their parents decided it was too late for them to be out. She laughed and danced and conversed with the villagers, finally allowing herself to have fun again. Because of the new circumstances, she hadn't been able to let loose in for what seemed like forever.

When Emma had finished a couple of dances with the merry villagers, she found Martha and Bethany still standing on the sidelines. Martha was staring at the crowd with such wide eyes that Emma would have thought them to fall out if she widened them any further. Her arms were wrapped around her torso and, no matter how much Bethany dogged her, she kept slowly receding away from the bustling party. That's when Emma decided to jump in.

She took the red-haired girl by her hands and pulled her closer to the edge of the town square, but not quite into the actual crowd. Something told her that might be a little too overwhelming for the poor girl. Emma began swaying to the upbeat, cheerful music that flooded through the warm air, moving Martha's hands along with her. Martha simply stared from Emma to the villagers, silently waiting for the crowd to attack her.

"Relax," Emma shouted over the music. Martha's eyes flashed to her's, only to be met with an encouraging smile. "Don't worry about what they think. Just let loose and have fun!"

Hesitantly, Martha began to move her hips side-to-side in a tiny, almost jerking way. "Yeah, there you go!" Bethany egged her on. Martha's blue eyes bounced back and forth from Emma to Bethany like a beach ball. Then, she moved her hips a little more, carefully testing the waters. It was almost like the simple act would be met with chastising, however, both Emma and Bethany only cheered her on.

Martha let out a small, uncertain laugh as her short and un-timed movements slowly became swaying. Before they knew it, Martha was dancing – albeit still a bit stiffly so. Soon after that, the three girls were swaying and jumping and wiggling to the music, not caring if they were in tune with the musicians or other dancers– or would have even been considered to be dancing at all. That didn't matter. The only thing on their minds was how much fun they could finally have.

Eventually, though, Bethany wandered off to find Alex and Martha awkwardly took off with Spencer, all of them leaving Emma alone in a sea of moving bodies. She didn't mind, though. She was just happy everyone was having a good time. Well, everyone she could see, that is.

It was around about the fourth time of seeing Spencer and Martha dance like the awkward teens they really were and hearing Bethany and Alex laugh obnoxiously to some joke unheard by her that Emma realized she hadn't seen Fridge since their departure. By then, the group had already been at the celebration for a good long while, and Emma found it strange that she hadn't in the very least seen Fridge moving about somewhere. Although, she would admit that she hadn't really been looking for him.

That changed in that very instant. With the other four friends off somewhere and the men of the village approaching that point of drunkenness where they were less fun to be around, Emma decided to find and pester her short friend. Or, enemy. Or, acquaintance. She wasn't exactly sure what they were.

That mattered little to her as she began wading through the ocean of people, trying not to get stepped on or thrown up on in the process. A few men had grabbed her and spun her around a few times before she could manage to politely decline between her laughs and continue on. It didn't take her long to find Fridge; he was exactly where she expected him to be.

At the edge of the town square, there was a small shack that was what Emma assumed to be a bar. Inside, Fridge was seated up at the very front, right upon a stool stationed at the bar, laughing loudly at something only he found funny. Emma smirked at the image of the tiny man's large and unsteady movements, and when she slid up next to him she couldn't stop herself from laughing. "Are you already drunk, Mouse?" she asked.

"What?" Fridge asked a bit louder than what he probably meant to, followed by his own laughter. " _No_! I've only had a couple drinks! I'm _fine_!"

"Ma'am," said an older male from behind the bar. The man's eyes bore dark bags and his round chin was patchy, and he looked to be the only one in the entire village who wasn't having a good time. He spoke in a board, monotonous drone, "this man has had _many_ drinks and has refused to pay for any one of them."

"Just put it on my tab!" Fridge laughed.

The man gave him the same, tedious stair. "I don't know what that is." Emma sighed and rolled her eyes, deciding she better defuse the situation before things got out of hand.

The building they were in was a small one and there were only three seats stationed at the main bar, and Fridge was seated on the far left one. The only other open seat was on the far right. In the middle was seated a large, round man who was hunched over the table and grumbling quietly to himself; not paying either Fridge nor the actual celebration any mind. Emma tapped on his shoulder lightly, the corners of her lips tugging upward into a friendly smile. "Excuse me, sir," she asked sweetly, "but could you move over a seat?" The man turned and gave a disdainful snarl at the young woman, showing off half a mouthful of yellowed and browning teeth that gave Emma a shiver down her spine. The stranger stared at her, his eyes scorching into Emma's very soul when suddenly, without warning, the stranger keeled over and slipped right off the stool, landing with a hard _'thud'_ on the dusty wood floor.

Emma jumped back and gave a startled yelp, trying not to get her toes crushed by the stranger's weight as he fell. Then she quickly scanned the surrounding area, worried someone would stand and accuse her of doing something to the poor drunk, but no one did. She debated on whether or not she should check on the man, fully believing he was dead or dying when the stranger began snoring louder than anyone Emma had ever heard. Clearing her throat awkwardly and straightening her clothes with her hands, she turned to Fridge with raised brows.

" _Okay_ , time to go!" Fridge was quick to protest, shaking his head wildly and waving his hands about like she was going to attack him. Emma stepped closer to him – mindful of the sleeping man on the ground – and gently wrapped her hands around Fridge's right arm. "Come on and dance with me!" she pleaded, pulling on his sleeves lightly. "You've been over here all night. Let's actually go and have some fun!"

Fridge rolled his eyes dramatically and sighed while making a talking motion with his hand, but he stood up anyways – albeit a bit wobbly. He didn't bother to wait for her as he marched his way towards the double doors of the shack, mumbling the entire way. Emma chuckled and shook her head at the sight. Leaving a handful of coins and crumpled dollars from out of one of her pockets on the bar, she called her thanks to the tired old barkeep and quickly jogged after Fridge, who had already made it outside. When she caught up to him, he snapped, "don't be so fast _."_ Emma only laughed, which seemed to catch him off guard.

The band began playing the next song, which happened to be Emma's favorite. It was an upbeat tune that she had learned the moves to, and she wasted no time in dragging Fridge into the very front of the lineup. Fridge's dark eyes darted to hers in a slight panic. "I don't know how to dance to this!" he snapped at her.

Emma chuckled and took his hand in hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. "It's easy; I'll show you!" She moved her hands to her waist. The short man hesitated only for a moment before following her action. Perfectly in sync with the rest of the townspeople, Emma stepped forward, spun in a circle, then stepped back in line. They repeated this for a second time, and Fridge did his best to copy what he had seen. He flashed Emma a nervous glance, but she only flashed her pearly white teeth happily.

The group kicked out their left leg, then their right, then the left again and spun on their right foot. Fridge stumbled some and was a little behind, but Emma only giggled and yelled over the music, "not bad!" Then she hooked her right arm with his and skipped in a circle. Fridge nearly fell and this caused him to burst out into laughter, which was quickly followed by Emma's own soft giggles. They placed their hands back on their hips and stepped forward three times, one foot in front of the other, bouncing up onto their toes with each movement, then spun again. They repeated the process again and Fridge hardly tripped at all. "Yeah, you're getting it!" Emma laughed. They continued to dance to the music, laughing the entire way like two old friends. They even threw in their own movements into the dance, which only caused a slip up that had everyone laughing along with them.

Fridge couldn't help but notice the way Emma moved about on the dance floor. She was like a delicate snowflake in the winter breeze or a blade of grace drifting in the sea. One moment she was laughing and moving along with the people, however, as though someone had flicked a switch somewhere deep within her mind, Emma Adams was instead dancing to the music.

Emma inhaled deeply as she allowed her senses to absorb the smell of the jungle and taste the sound of the violin, her mind going foggy with a numbing bliss as she lifted her delicate body up onto the tips of her toes. Her arms left her body and raised above her head and bent lightly at the elbows, every one of her fingers pointed precisely as her jade-green eyes fluttered shut. Her body now was drunk on the heat of the dim, biting fire, her lips kissing the dulcet freedom that enveloped her in an abrupt and unrestricted away.

Emma moved her arms out to her sides - her fingertips nearly touching from behind her slim back - then forward and back above her head. Her torso swayed back and forth with her arms as one, perfectly fluid and unique movement. Her elbows gracefully tore through the air in perfect rhyme with her feet as she pointed her right leg and leaped. As soon as her toes had caught her weight, she was spinning in a tight circle with her left leg bent with her foot flexed against her right thigh, only coming down for a split second to propel her spinning form. There was absolutely nothing that could calm her tempestuous gale as she spins to the music. Her arms oscillated above her face as she leaned her head back, a shadow of a smile on her ruby red lips.

The flickering of the fire beside her casted licking and flickering shadows that dance eloquently along her fluent body. When Emma stopped spinning, she lunged forward again, her left leg a striking spear in the night. And as she swished both her body and arms forward then back again, far and reaching, her back arched and hands nearly touching the dirt floor beneath her, the moon's light graced her with her very own spotlight. The single, unthoughtful movement seemed to reject every last silent judgment from the world that was offered to her all her life.

"Wow," Fridge breathed, blinking his eyes hard. The sound of his voice shattered Emma's peaceful and solitudinous world, causing her to jump back into reality. "What was _that_?" Emma chuckled nervously and began playing with a strand of her hair as she nibbled on her lip and downcasted her eyes, her cheeks suddenly flaming as hot as the fire as not only Fridge, but seemingly the entire village stared at her in complete awe. Whether it was an instant impulse or he was merely acting out of drunkness, Emma was not sure, but whatever it was, it drove Fridge to reach forward and brush her hands away from her face and instead pull her hair behind her ears himself. " _That,"_ he said with complete seriousness, his deep brown eyes staring into her own. "That right there – I don't know _what_ that was but that was _amazing_!"

Emma couldn't keep back her surprise as she smiled at the man who had hated her just a mere few hours before. Although it was probably just a result of him drinking one too many drinks, it was still nice. "Where'd you learn to dance like that? Is it one of your strengths like Martha's dance fighting?" Fridge continued to pry.

"What?" asked Emma, once again stolen from her thoughts. "Dance fighting? I didn't even know that was a thing."

"Neither did we – continue."

She chuckled. "No, no it's not one of my strengths. I actually took dance lessons back in the real world." Emma didn't know how she felt about telling Fridge of her dance lessons. It was a trait brought back from the real world, and it was awkward for her to talk about the real world. Emma's worries that Fridge would pursue his questioning further were eased, though, when Fridge took her by her hand and instead began spinning her again.

Both Emma and Fridge continued to dance to the next song, and the song after that. She even attempted to show Fridge and a few other drunk villagers some dance moves. Attempted, being the word. Everyone was having a wonderful time - _she_ was having a wonderful time. That was, until, she felt something; something wrong.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and her arms became covered in goosebumps. Her entire body went rigid as she felt eyes pinning her to the spot, watching her every move, deducing her very thoughts. The longer the eyes looked at her, the more they burned her, and the more sweaty and uneasy she became. She could fell her veins pumping thickly as her body unknowingly began searching for the source of the danger, tasting the very air around her. She snapped her head to the left.

It was sitting on a high branch, hidden deep within the leaves and shadows, but she could see it. Its little bald head was hunched over as it's beady eyes bore into her own in such an evil way that a biting shiver snaked down her spine. It was a vulture, and it was staring directly at Emma.

A random old man suddenly took Emma by the hand and spun her around as he skipped and sang an off-pitch tune that didn't match the playing song. Emma couldn't help but laugh as she politely declined, pulling her hands out of his grasp and raising them up in surrender. The man didn't seem to mind too much, and after spinning her one more time he wandered back into the crowd, singing and swaying as he went. She chuckled at the hearty old man, but she could still feel those beady, oil drop eyes boring into the back of her head like heated coals.

Her eyes flickered back to the vulture, only to see that it was still watching her. Each second that their eyes were locked her heart seemed to pump louder in her ears. When she thought her chest was going to explode, the bird's eyes suddenly flashed that same, familiar dark green. Then it spread it's large, black wingspan and flapped hard, launching its fat body into the air with a terrifying, ear-splitting screech. Emma's heart dropped into her stomach.

She snagged the still dancing Fridge's arm, snatching him out of his own happy world. "Fridge," she said, her eyes never leaving the spot where the bird had disappeared off into the dark night sky.

" _What_?" he groaned, somewhat annoyed by her interruption. However, the look on Emma's face caused his smile to falter. "W-what? What is it?"

"Something's wrong," she said as she began pushing him further into the pulsating crowd. "We have to find the others." Emma pushed her way urgently through the dense formation of sweaty bodies, keeping Fridge close behind her by a steal-trap grip on his wrist. Her eyes searched the unfamiliar faces of the crowd, desperate to find her four friends. She had no idea what that bird was, but she knew it was nothing good.

She caught sight of Alex and Bethany and she made a direct B-line for them. "Alex," she gushed once she reached them.

"Yeah?" he laughed, turning to meet her. Once he saw the pale look of her face, his heart very well could have stopped. "What is it?"

"We have to go _now_. You, Bethany, and Fridge get back to the meeting spot and I'll find Spencer and Martha."

"No, you guys get to the meeting spot and _I'll_ find Spencer and Martha." Emma could have strangled Alex then, but Fridge stepped in before she could exhale her comment.

"Look, we have no idea where they're at. They can be literally anywhere. I think we should split up."

Bethany nodded as she silently tried not to panic. Despite their predicament, it didn't get past Emma the way Bethany held onto Alex's right bicep. "Yeah, I'll go with Alex!"

Emma looked from Alex to Fridge to Bethany. She wanted them to get to safety, _not_ split up. Seeing that she was outmatched, she sighed and nodded quickly, knowing there was no time to waste with arguing. "Alright, that's fine. Bethany and Alex go that way and Fridge and I will go this way," she pointed the directions, then they were off.

Fridge and Emma headed off in their direction, glancing over the heads of the strangers for the bald head of Spencer or the fiery red hair of Martha. " _Ugh_ ," Fridge stomped his foot in desperation. "Where are they?"

Suddenly there was a loud shout from behind. The pair whipped around and gasped at what they saw. The music had stopped and the only sound that could be heard was light murmuring from the people. A hush had settled over the little village, along with a strange coldness in the air. The crowd had formed a circle, and in the middle of the circle was a troop of large, burly mercenaries, all wielding large weapons and ugly sneers. And in the lead of the group was a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned, mismatched-eyed man that Emma had only seen once before at the bazaar, which now seemed so long ago. She had nearly forgotten the dark, creeping feeling of ice crawling through her blood whenever she last saw him, but she remembered now.

A slight movement caught her eye from somewhere behind the evil group and, to her great relief, she saw that Alex and Bethany had found the other two and were edging their way towards the shadows of the hut homes. Emma smiled happily and her heart soared, overwhelmingly glad that they were able to get away. Then she felt a nudge on her arm from Fridge and her smile instantly fell. She had forgotten about Fridge. She needed to get him to safety.

She regained her grip on his wrist and began tugging him further into the crowd and towards the forest. He jerked his head towards hers, silently asking what she was doing, but she only gestured with her head in the direction she wanted to go while also bringing a quieting finger to her lips. Getting the hint, he cast the mercenaries - who were now aggressively pushing and grabbing villagers in search of the teens with the Jewel – one last worrisome glance before ducking down with her and following closely behind.

The two crept around the people as quietly as they could. Every now and then loud shouting and screams would erupt behind them, which would cause Fridge to squeak in fright and Emma to jump, ready to bolt within a second's notice. Some of the villagers would give them strange, terrified looks, to which Emma would bring a finger up to her lips once more, begging and pleading for their silence. So far, no one had decided to rat them out.

Emma and Fridge were now a mere ten feet away from the safety of the trees. They were so close to getting away that Emma was almost thinking about making a run for it. Her dark red lips broke out into a relieved smile as she began to rush forward, dragging Fridge the along the way. That's when she heard another shout from behind her, and she made the split-second choice to look behind her. Towering over the villagers was an ugly man with a beard and shaggy hair on an egg-shaped head, and he was pointing a fat, calloused finger directly at Emma and Fridge.

"There they are, Boss!" his voice seemed to shatter the world as her heart plummeted to her toes."They're getting away!"

"Run!" Emma shouted. Still holding onto Fridge, she darted forward and into the trees. She could hear the stampeding feet of the men behind her, which only fueled her to go faster. Fridge, however, stumbled and tripped in the dark, everything spinning uncomfortably as the excessive alcohol in his belly sloshed. She knew he could not keep up this pace with the state he was in for very much longer.

Through the dark, she spotted an old abandoned hut. Perfect. They ran along the side of the hut then made a hard right, cutting around the corner of the house sharply. They ran along the building's side, their shadows displayed on the old, delipidated walls like a crude child's drawing, and once they had gotten around the second corner of the house, Emma flung Fridge into the bushes. She jumped into the foliage right after him, pressing his body between the house and hers.

"Emma-" he started, but she quickly shushed him and pressed her chest harder against his own, trying to morph their bodies into the shadows. The entire jungle had seemed to go utterly soundless as Emma perked her head up, straining her ears to catch even the slightest sound of movement. Her ears, well trained after being trapped in _Jumanji_ for so long, picked up nothing. "Emma I-" she pressed the palm of her hand against Fridge's lips firmly, willing him to remain silent as she returned to listening.

No sooner had she done it, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. They sounded... odd, however. It was slow and almost deliberate as they moved through the thick brush and thickets, something she had never known the evil goons to do. Emma might have even missed it if she had not been straining her ears like she was.

She only picked up the sound of a single person, and whoever they were, they seemed quite accustomed to the forest. More than she was, that she was almost certain of. Their movements were careful and calculating, and every few seconds they would stop to listen. She prayed that Fridge would keep quiet long enough for this person to get away from their area. A few more excruciating moments passed as the mercenary repeated his process of stalking and listening, and, to Emma's outstanding relief, he seemed to be moving away from them. Her relief was instantly snuffed out when Fridge began fidgeting in his spot.

The footsteps stopped. Emma's heart was thundering so loudly that she would have thought the man to hear it himself. Then, he started walking again, this time directly towards the corner Fridge and Emma were cowering behind. His steps were no longer practiced and soft but swift and clumping. Each thump of his steel-toed boots was like a volcanic eruption in the silent world, ready to destroy everything within a second's notice, yet still was painfully droll, like one would stroll down a park; why must the lion rush when the mouse was already cornered? He suddenly came to a stop, merely six feet away from where Emma and Fridge sat stone still.

Emma's beating heart was like pulsating storm within her chest cavity and the blood rushed in her ears like a waterfall. Her breathing was heavy and she pressed a fist hard against her lips to try and keep herself from making any noise by mistake. Her head felt light as she waited for something to happen; _anything_. And then something did happen.

Fridge back-handed her arm away from him.

Her eyes snapped to his to see what was wrong, only to squint in disgust as Fridge leaned to the side and threw up.

Everything stood still at that very moment as Fridge looked up at her in horror at what he had done, knowing full well he had messed up. Emma's mind began racing as she tried to come up with an escape of some sort, but when the footsteps began moving towards them again, any thought at all was thrown out the window. ' _Fridge_ ,' she mouthed, hoping he would see. _'Stay here.'_

 _'What?'_ he mouthed back.

Drawing out every silent word, she droned out, _'stay. Here... And stay safe.'_

With that, she pushed herself up from her hiding spot and jumped out from around the corner. She came face-to-face with that man; the man she had seen at the bazaar, the man who was currently hunting her and her friends down like wild animals, the man with the single, blind eye. Before anyone had the second to react, Emma spun on her heels and began to run into the dark forest, not caring if she knew where she was going or that the man was right on her heels. All she cared about was that the rest of her group was safe.

And that she got away with her head.

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 _ **A/N:**_ _ **How do you think the start of Emma and Van Pelt's relationship is working out for them? Please follow and favorite** **if** **you** **like the story, and a comment to tell me** **any** **pointers or** **notes** **you may** **have. I absolutely adore reading your comments!**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Hey guys! Here's chapter five for you! Yay! Oh, and just so that everyone is not confused, I had gotten the name of the hat wrong before. Emma's hat is not a pith helmet, it's a Tilley hat. Sorry everyone for updating so late as well! My internet is crazy and every time I tried to edit this it would kick me off the page and I'd have to start over. Sorry guys!**_

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The loud chirping songs of the birds echoed through Emma Adams's head, slowly waking her from a deep sleep. Her head pulsated and throbbed harshly and she moaned in pain; how much had she had to drink last night? Her face screwed into a grimace as sharp pins and needles began to prickle across her body. She was laying on her stomach with her left arm trapped beneath her body while the other laid limply to her side. She dragged her arm out from under her and instantly took notice of the stiffness; how long had she been out? Groaning and wincing at the cracks and pops from her joints, Emma stretched out her arms and legs as far as she could, pressing her face further into the scratchy ropes of her hammock in the process. Her body didn't seem to appreciate her movements and so retaliated with the explosion of her brain. Emma whimpered and rolled over onto her side, wrapping her arms around her knees tightly as her brain pounded against her skull.

Her nose instantly scrunched in further pain as a rather sharp stick jabbed her gut. She raised her hip as much as she could while her right arm began blindly trying to brush the branch away as her half-awake mind desperately tried to keep a hold of her sleep. Alex was right - she really needed to clean out the hammock before jumping in.

Her hands gripped around the branch – which was a couple inches thicker than what she had first thought – however, it didn't move an inch when she tugged on it. It must have been tangled in the ropes, she thought, and decided she'd deal with it later. She shuffled her body away from the stick and ended up laying on her back. This new position proved to not be the better solution as the harsh morning light instantly hit her eyelids.

 _'Wait, sunlight?'_ her groggy mind questioned her own senses. When she had first set up her hammock, she had specifically chosen this spot because of all the shade it provided. Emma was a light sleeper and had always kept a pretty solid schedule and would naturally wake before the sun rose. If not, Alex would be the one to wake her; whether he meant to or not. Very few times had the sun actually been the one to wake her. What time was it?

Too tired to care at that moment, she lazily slung an arm over her face, shielding her eyes from the sun. A few moments passed before she moaned out in despair, knowing full well that she would not be getting back to sleep any time soon.

Emma was not one to sleep easily. Once she was awake, she was awake. The sharp stick, the piercing headache, the damned sunlight, and the constant chirps of the overly happy birds all taunted her attempt to get some well-needed rest. She was not even fully awake and already she was tired, but this did nothing to keep her mind and body from slowly beginning to wake.

With a harsh huff, Emma flung her arm to her side, not caring if the barrier to protect her eyes from the sunlight or save her sleep from the daunting day was gone. She was awake now anyway, so there was no point in trying to sleep any further. Her red lips formed a pout as she sighed dramatically, trying to summon up the strength to push herself out of her hammock and start the day.

Suddenly, a thick branch from somewhere up in the canopy of the trees fell, and it landed right on Emma's exposed forehead.

" _Ow_!" she yelped, her hands coming up to press against her sore head, adding to the pain of her headache. This day couldn't get any worse for the poor girl. After a few moments of cradling her injured forehead, she ran her hands down her face and sighed loudly once more as she tried to force her eyes open. Her thick lashes fluttered as her eyes tried to adjust to the light. The overhead tree branches swayed lightly in the gentle breeze and the leaves rustled, sounding a lot like laughter to her. _'The trees are mocking me,'_ her inner thoughts mumbled as she glared at the sky above through the gaps between her fingers. Her brow scrunched and she blinked hard as a sudden realization dawning on her.

The trees seemed to be _taller_ than they normally were. Usually, the branches would be dangling mere inches from her face, and now they were many feet away from her. That's when Emma also realized that the breeze was swaying the trees, and yet she was not moving at all. Her fingers flexed and instead of gripping around thin white ropes, she got a handful of damp soil.

Emma slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, looking around her surroundings with wide, astonished eyes, her entire body as tense as stone as she took in the unfamiliar setting. She wasn't laying in her hammock in the safety of Alan Parrish's tree-house surrounded by her friends; she was laying on the ground in the middle of nowhere. Worse, she was laying in the middle of the _Jumanji_ jungle alone. The towering, daunting trees and densely pack foliage crowded around her heavily, suffocating her and the small clearing she had woken up in, the only other thing to accompany her being the fallen tree directly behind her.

Her heart began to beat in tune with her pulsing head as her breathing hitched. Everything suddenly seemed to be closing in on her, encasing her, trapping her. "Alex?" she whimpered out, her emerald eyes desperately searching the foliage for a familiar face, her mind drudging through her memories in search of what had happened. Images of the night before flicked through her mind, but she only remembered bits and pieces.

She and the others were in the West Village. She and Alex had been trying to cheer up Spencer, Martha, Bethany, and Fridge when... _they_ came.

She was with someone, she knew. The group had split up, but she wasn't alone. Then she remembered the vomiting.

"Fridge?" she called for him, hoping the short man was still somewhere close by. After a few moments had passed with no saving call, she dived back into her thoughts once more. What had happened after that?

A single, white eye and looming shadow flashed across her mind.

That's right; _he_ had come.

Fridge was in danger, and she lead _that_ man away from him. She had blindly run into the ruthless jungle of _Jumanji_ all alone with no clue as to where she was headed nor how far she would go. Or, how far she had now gone.

"Anybody?" her voice cracked and she quickly bit her lip, trying to calm down her breathing as tears began to well up in the corners of her eyes. Emma brought her knees up to her chest and she wrapped her arms around them tightly like a child with their security blanket. The tips of her spine scraped against the rough bark of the fallen tree behind her, but she took no notice of the scratching pain as her rushing blood and growing fear ebbed into her conscious. She hadn't been alone since the beginning of the game, and the very thought of that terrified her. She hated being alone.

A small whimper escaped her lips, but it was quickly silenced by the back of her hand as she covered her mouth, embarrassed by her own actions. She should be stronger than this. Emma angrily wiped away her tears with the palm of her hand, instantly attempting to fight back her growing panic and fear as she scowled and chastised herself. This was no time for tears; she had to get a hold of herself.

Searching the bowl of blue in the sky, Emma was able to locate the flaming sun through the holes in the thickly packed branches. Luckily, the sun seemed to be slowly making it's way out of the sky as the growing evening approached. She breathed out a sigh of relief at this. At least night was approaching. Emma finally allowed the gentle breeze to calm her as it softly kissed her dirty and scratched face, bringing along with it the rustling laughs of the trees, the smell of fruit, and the chirps of the birds.

Emma's brow scrunched and her head cocked to the side, her ears straining for sound. The birds were no longer singing. In fact, the only sound she could hear was the rustling trees, and the fruit smelled bitter and rotten. Her breath suddenly hitched in her throat as a loud, explosive-like sound hit her eardrums; it was not the trees' laughter filling the air, it was _actual_ laughter. And by the gruff, obnoxious yells and shouts and the lingering smell of alcohol that followed, Emma had a bad, knowing feeling that it wasn't her rescue party.

The first thing to process in Emma's mind was to escape. Her initial instinct was to run, but that plan was no good. She had no clue as to where the men were, let alone what direction was safest to run in. With her current luck, she would run directly into the enemy's arms. Her next thought was to climb a tree. However, one look at the enormous, swaying, creaking things instantly made her feel sick and dizzy. The voices were getting closer, and it became quickly apparent that there were far more men than what Emma could handle on her own.

Her eyes darted around her wildly as the icy claws of panic slowly curled around her and squeezed painfully around her chest. A sudden movement caught her eye and her head jerked to the left. She only saw it for a few moments, but it was enough to cause her heart to jump into her throat; a man – no, _three_ men – were stomping through the jungle, laughing and joking among themselves as one lazily swung at branches with a rather large and sharp-looking machete. Another man appeared from the brush, lazily following after the previous three. Then there was another, and four more on her right.

The men were too far away to take any notice of her as of now. However, as the more passing mercenaries she witnessed edged dangerously closer and closer to her little clearing, the more her panic grew.

Her breathing was quick and shallow, and she subconsciously began scooting herself away from the increasing danger. Her back pressed up against the scratching surface of something and she nearly jumped out of her skin as she whipped around, fully believing she had bumped into some deranged, maniacal NPC mercenary ready to tear out her throat. To her relief, it was just the fallen tree.

An obnoxious explosion of laughter to her right nearly gave Emma a heart attack; they were even closer now, and she knew that any moment longer someone would spot her.

Emma's feet began pushing her back again as she quickly scooted herself down the side of the rotting tree trunk. Once she had gotten to the end of the trunk, she would dive onto the opposite side of the tree and hope no one saw her. It wasn't the best plan, but it was a plan nonetheless.

As she did this, the corner of her left hip suddenly snagged on a root, causing her to fall hard on her side with a sharp gasp. Emma bit her bottom lip hard and she pressed her palm to her injured side, trying to will the pain away. It hurt, but she had to keep going. She started to crawl towards the end of the tree as fast as she could manage while also paying careful attention to how much noise she was making.

When Emma had finally reached the end of the tree, she could have cried out in joy for the surprising amount of coverage. The tree seemed to have been uprooted by the wind some many odd years ago; its roots had been ripped from the ground, creating a mound of mangled and dead tree parts and dried moss-covered dirt clumps while the base was completely surrounded by tall, lush ferns. Emma's dainty hands gripped tightly onto one of the roots as she hauled herself up and off the ground. Unfortunately, the root she had grabbed snapped under her weight and she fell forward hard. Lucky enough for her, she had landed on the upheaval of dirt that had been kicked up by the fallen tree and the only sound she caused was a low ' _thump_!'

Emma nearly cried out to the heavens at her luck as she pushed herself back up. If the men hadn't spotted her first, her capture would surely be caused by her own ruckus. She was about to reach for yet another root to help her up, but she froze. Her right hand, which had been the one to grab the weak root, was now _inside_ the tree. Emma's brow scrunched and she squinted hard, trying to see into the darkness of the dead trunk from around the thick ferns. The dirt inside the tree had crumbled inward, making a shallow dent within the long-rotted tree. Broken and tangled roots were dangling in front of the dent like a gaped, wooden curtain, and the grass around the tree stretched high and was thickly clustered, all elements that aided in hiding the shallow hole. Emma dared to reach her arm into the darkness, testing how deep it really was. Or, if there were any angry critters hidden inside.

She watched as her arm was slowly eaten by the dark shadows all the way up to her elbow before she hit a wall of soft dirt. When nothing attacked her, Emma bit her lip and dived into the hollow, curling in on herself as soon as she was fully consumed by the shadows. The crawl space was only just big enough for her entire body to fit. Emma's eyes never left the entrance to her little hovel as she tried to calm her erratic breathing, watching and waiting for the mercenaries to hopefully pass her by and not decide to look into the dead tree's inside.

Subconsciously, her fingers delicately toyed with her holstered pistol on her waist. She had never used a gun before in her life and she would rather keep it that way. In fact, she hated guns with a passion. She had actually wanted to leave the damned thing in the tree-house, however, Alex always made sure she had it on her at all times. After all, sharpshooting was one of her strengths. That fact was some sort of small comfort to her and Alex, even though she wasn't sure she could ever actually get herself to pull the trigger.

The men were loud, and they stumbled through the forest like the big goons they were. They pushed and stumbled through the foliage and laughed and cursed at each other. More than just a couple times one would shoot at something with their gun, which was always followed by an ear-breaking chorus of laughter. And every time they did so, Emma's heart would sink dramatically closer to her toes and her body would tremble.

She could now see the thick, lumbering boots and baggy jeans of the mercenaries stomping past her, some even bustling the trunk as they stepped on and over it. To her relief, none of them had noticed her quivering form silently hiding in the shadows of the deadened tree. That did not keep her from holding her breath and gripping the dirt and root wall as tightly as she possibly could.

Just outside of her hidden hole, a man came to a sudden stop, his dark eyes catching sight of something. The towering man wore his too-large muscles like a protective blanket of steal beneath his baggy and dirty clothes. His big, meaty fingers reached up to scratch his round and scraggly head, then slid down to his patchy and graying goatee. The man then leaned down and snatched up what he first thought was a piece of fabric laying in the dirt. Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was a Tilley hat.

The Tilley was smeared with dirt and the fabric was ripped and scratched. The large man pulled and turned and twisted the flimsy object within his massive hands as he studied the piece of clothing, even choosing to go as far as to give it a good sniff. It smelt of the jungle and looked too old to be of any further interest to him. He was just about to discard the hat when a sudden voice appeared behind him.

"What do you have, Vaughn?" the voice asked.

"Just a hat, Boss," Vaughn said simply with a lazy roll of his shoulders. His words were slow and lumbering, just as his movements were indolent and tired.

Russel Van Pelt peered at the Tilley hat with a dark gaze. Without a word, he took the hat from his henchman and began to study it. His large, calloused hands turned and moved the dirty fabric around gently, his deep brown eye as well as his milky white one searching every inch of the tanned surface. The hat was shredded and ripped and smeared with dirt and on the inside of the front rim, there was blood. The blood had easily bled through the framework of the Tilley and stained a merlot-colored splotch onto the fuzzy cloth, about the size of a coin. Van Pelt ran the pad of his thumb harshly against discolored spot, then held his fingers up to the ever darkening sky, catching the dying beams of the sun within his fingers.

A tiny, nearly unseen smear of red was left smudged against his flesh, the rest of the blood having already dried on the hat. The hat could not have been left behind for long; maybe even within the past few minutes, Van Pelt concluded. The Tilley's owner was still in the area.

He then brought the hat up to his face and inhaled, taking in the scent that was oh so familiar - one that he had nearly forgotten but heavily missed. The scent that infiltrated Van Pelt's senses and made his head swim was an odd mix of wet dirt, moss, and peaches; it was an old aroma he thought he would never have the chance to smell again. Although, as much as he wanted it to be exactly as he had remembered it to be, it was still not _that_ smell. At least, not completely. The smell he knew so well was now also mixed with the scent of lemons.

"Boss?" Vaughn's deep, rumbling voice brought Van Pelt back to the present. "What now?"

Van Pelt clutched the brim of the Tilley tightly within his fingers as he thought, his thumbs subconsciously running little circles in the smooth fabric. Then, he nodded to Vaughn and said, "keep moving. We need to get back to the camp." He turned his gaze up to the darkening sky, his mismatched eyes shining in such a brilliant way in the dimming light. "Night is nearly upon us." Vaughn nodded robotically before doing as he was commanded.

Emma held her breath as she stared at the steel-toed boots positioned so close to her, toes pointed directly at her. Any sound at all and she would be caught for sure. She was not entirely sure why the man hesitated for as long as he did; maybe he was listening for her, waiting for her to mess up and give herself away. Maybe he was simply enjoying the sunset. That thought was somewhat ridiculous, but not entirely impossible.

And then, he walked away.

Emma stayed hidden within the hollow until the sun was well below the horizon. She waited patiently until it was so dark that she could no longer see her hands in front of her face. She did not come out until the moon was high up in the obsidian bowl of the world and lit up the clearing with its dim, haunting light.

She gingerly crawled out into the open from inside the dead tree, her eyes gliding across the clearing for any sign of an enemy – be it man or animal. The only sound she heard were the soft and elegant songs of the nightingales high in the treetops and crickets in the grass. Emma was grateful for their songs, for birds and crickets were the first to signal danger, and if they were in the area then it must be safe.

Emma stood from her spot and stretched her crammed limbs, trying to return the feeling to her hands and feet, always looking over her shoulder. She groaned as her back popped and her extremities tingled, her ears still listening in caution to her surroundings. Then, she turned to the stars.

The stars were a very odd yet beautiful thing in _Jumanji_. Unlike the sky back in the real world, the moon and stars above her now never changed shape, size, nor color. They were exactly the same as the very first day she landed in _Jumanji_ , the only noticeable change being the rising and setting sun and moon. The sky above was a large, endless pit of sparkling jewels and glittering dust splattered upon a blank canvas. Most were white, however, some shone red, others twinkled green, and few blinked blue.

Emma and Alex had taken notice of the spectacularly colored stars from rather early on in the game. It had taken them a while, but they fully believed they had figured the meaning behind the colors.

The black, glistening world above them was, in actuality, a map.

Alex had already begun making a map of the discovered parts of _Jumanji_ by the time Emma had met him. Once they had realized the odd patterns in the sky, it was easy to map out the stars since they never changed. They marked down where every oddly colored light that was seen, and when compared to the map of _Jumanji_ , they noticed key patterns.

The twinkling green lights had all lined up directly over villages and towns and other notable places the two had discovered, while the blinking blue ones matched up with the sparse "safe-spots" they had found – one of those being Alan Parrish's treehouse. They were still unsure of what the red, shining dots meant, however. They had never been able to reach a location marked by a red dot. Still, the information they had been able to gather was enough for them to know what they were looking at; a pin-pointed map of _Jumanji,_ marking the land as the group moved across the board.

Although the stars were a fantastic way to find her way back to the treehouse, Emma was still a little skeptical with how well her mapping skills were. Neither she nor Alex had actually ever used the stars to find home; they never had a need of it before.

 _'Well, there's always a first for everything,'_ she told herself grimly as she searched through the branches for the familiar colors. There was one star that was just a little larger than the rest; just a bit brighter blue than the others. That star, she knew, would lead her straight home. The only problem was finding it.

Once Emma was sure she had picked out the beautiful, gleaming stone from within the sea of game-generated specks, she was rushing in its direction, the face of the moon and the songs of the nightingales and crickets being the only thing to accompany her in her journey home.

Following the star proved to be quite the difficult task; much more so than what Emma had first suspected and hoped. After only getting in a few good feet through the treeline did Emma really have to pay attention to where she was going. Every turn she took seemed to be riddled with grabbing thorns and winding vines and snagging roots, all of which she either skillfully dodge or tripped over.

Many times Emma had gotten turned around trying to get around a clump of particularly thick briers and thorns and ferns and lost her sense of direction. So, she would have to either backtrack or keep pushing forward until she found another break in the canopy that showed her the blinking beaker marking her way.

Emma had once again gotten stuck at a wall of thick, webbing vines and foliage and she huffed and groaned scornfully at the plants. Her pearly white teeth anxiously nibbled on her bottom lip as she repeatedly ran her hand through her hair; this was taking much longer than what she hoped it would. She should have at least reached some sort of break in the jungle by now! As Emma ran her hands through her hair, glaring scornfully at the poor, undeserving plants, she was suddenly and very painfully aware of the missing weight upon her head. When had she lost her hat? Things had been moving so vastly and suddenly that she had not taken notice of when she had lost the object, yet now that it was gone and she knew it, she felt a full weight heave in her chest. She loved that hat; she honestly did, and now it was gone.

Emma didn't see these game-made bodies as mere, usable mannequins. She saw them as a form of art; a look into a different way of life, even. A look into a different world completely.

It always mesmerized her, the thought of a game becoming advanced enough to create an entire world that real people could inhabit. She was by no means a scientifically or computer-qualified individual, but it still intrigued her. And despite all of the mishaps and general danger of the world, it was still beautiful. Because of this, she had felt a sort of attachment to her character – an admiration, even – which is why losing the hat seemed so utterly wrong to Emma.

Emma's hands patted her hair in vain as her eyes began desperately searching the forest floor for the object, knowing fully well that, if it was not here, she would have to go back to find it. The hat was not by her feet, yet it was far closer to her than she would have thought.

Her body went completely rigid as the little hairs along her body stood on end, her entire being suddenly begging her mind for the okay to bolt. Every last muscle in her body tensed to the point it caused her joints to ache, but the only feeling she felt was the intense fight-or-flight response The feeling had so quickly overtaken her that the voice she heard next completely paralyzed her feet to the forest floor, making her nothing more than a sitting duck waiting for the jaguar to attack.

"Hello, Jessie Jinx," the voice said, the hissed words snapping at Emma's paralysis like a snake flicking is forked tongue against the frozen mouse, tasting its radiating fear, listening to its quivering heart. The only thing Emma could manage to move was her head, which snapped around as fast as a fired bullet. It was there, with a wall of vines at her back and trees to her sides, that Emma found herself completely and utterly cornered by a mercenary. The man that had so sneakily caught her was standing directly behind her, his large body hidden under the shadows of the looming trees, which all seemed to wake and quiver as they laughed at Emma's predicament. The stranger took a step forward, allowing his steel-toed boot, half of his pant leg, and his blind eye to illuminate in the moonlight. "Only," the man added dangerously, flashing her a perilous, lop-sided sneer that Emma could only faintly see,"you're not really Jessie Jinx, are you?"

"N-no," Emma squeaked, her feet quaking in her boots as she stared at the brooding silhouette of the man before her. Emma quickly swallowed the lump in her throat, embarrassment growing beneath the fear of her own cowardice. Although her feet were jello to her and she feared she would fall, she forced herself to turn around and face the mercenary head on, one trembling footstep at a time. As she turned, she managed to raise her chin up high, attempting to look defiant and un-fearful. She hoped the darkness would hide her true feelings. "No. But how do you know that?" she had meant to say it in an accusing tone, maybe even a demanding one, and she hoped that it sounded as such and not like the frightened little girl she heard.

There was a low, rumbling chuckle that made Emma's heart quake as the man took another step forward, and then another, finally allowing the moon above to fully shower his face in its brilliance. The man was strikingly handsome, to Emma's surprise. He was nothing like the other mercenaries she had seen through her journey in _Jumaji._ His skin was beautifully darkened by the growing years of continuous kisses from the sun, which so contradicted his surroundings that he almost seemed too perfect to be placed in such a dark and mangled jungle. His face was strongly sculpted and was as intimidating as it was handsome, the only imperfection being the scruffy beginnings of a beard that reached across his strong chin. From beneath his pristine white shirt and tanned leather trench coat, Emma could faintly see just how powerful the man was, and for once she knew that she could not take on a single NPC by herself.

The man's hair was as black as the night sky above – darker than the tree's shadows, even – and it sat on top his head tousled and disheveled from the touch of the jungle's creations instead of a hairbrush. His eyes- those mismatched eyes – they contrasted against the surrounding world so greatly that Emma nearly gasped when she had first caught sight of them. His right eye was a deep brown, nearly black from the shadowed frame of his thick eyebrows. His left eye, however, was as white as the sun is bright. She had first thought it to be blind, however, from the great intense look he now gave her and the odd hint of illuminating green that radiated from the white eye, she wasn't all too sure anymore.

Emma could now put a face to who had been watching her through the spider's eyes that fateful night so many weeks ago. His next words only confirmed her growing suspicion. "I know more about this place than you or your friends ever will." He said it with a sneer on his handsome face, looking both threatening yet somehow uninterested at the same time, like he already knew just how this would all pan out; like it had happened a hundred times over.

"Is that so?" she asked, carefully allowing her eyes to roam the place for an escape. Since she now knew she could not fight this man alone, making a break for it would be her only chance, even though she absolutely abhorred the thought of running from a single, weaponless man. "So who does that make you, then? You must be someone powerful to know so much."

"I am Van Pelt."

"Just Van Pelt?"

"That is what _you_ will call me." The authoritative tone he took on nearly caused Emma to scoff. It seemed as though every man in this game was programmed to have some sense of authority, so much so that Emma found it rather humorous now. The man, Van Pelt, either had not noticed her scoff or decided to ignore it, because he continued to speak. "Now, which one are you?" The question seemed more directed towards himself than anything, and it surprised Emma. So this man really did know that they weren't NPCs? Did he know how many there were? How much did he know about them? How much did he know about Emma?

The look Van Pelt then gave her made Emma feel somewhat more confident; like she had a little more control over the situation as his eyes roamed over her, trying to see through the body for who she really was. He knew she was not who she seemed to be, and yet he really didn't seem to know much else about her. Emma nearly smirked.

"You can call me Em," she said. She wasn't all too sure why she had said it; no one had ever called her "Em" before. Van Pelt's scrunched brow mirrored her own inner confusion as his head cocked ever so slightly to the right.

" _Just_ Em?" he questioned, a look of curiosity playing across his handsome features.

This time Emma did smirk; she even went as far as to flash the mercenary a sly nod of the head. "That is what you will call me, _Just_ Van Pelt."

Van Pelt stared at the young woman, his darkened gaze seeming to pierce her very soul within a split second change of his previously avid gaze, and she began to worry that maybe she had taken her egotistical actions a tad too far. Just as her confidence began to dwindle before her, the man chuckled that deep, rich sound that seemed to match him so very well; daunting and clinical. "It doesn't matter either way – I don't need your name."

This sent a shiver down Emma's spine. Despite the cold feeling that had been violently sent her way, she swallowed thickly and responded with, "no, you don't, because I'm not staying around long enough to get friendly."

The man smirked again, the lop-sided look emanating absolute danger. "You're staying, but we won't be getting friendly." And, with only a few steps more, Van Pelt was suddenly directly in front of her, his skin so close to her own that it nearly burned her flesh as her hairs prickled. Every instinct in her body screamed for her to run, and yet she could not move a muscle to do so.

The towering man rounded on her like a stalking cat with its toy, ready to pounce and tear her to shreds, all with that daunting smirk displayed on his lips. His eyes met hers, and Emma thought he might laugh at her because it would have been obvious to any passerby just how terrified she now was. Instead of laughter though, she got something else entirely; he reached up a large, calloused hand and took a thick cluster of her hair within his fingers, twisting the yellow strands as his incompatible eyes stared back into her own. "I need you for something else," he said, his voice now a low rumbling in her ears that buzzed her head much like a large gulp of good alcohol, "something else _entirely_."

He twirled the strands around his fingers, feeling the soft yet dirty pieces moving like fine silk against the palm of his hand, being oh so careful not to snag a tangle. Then, he began pulling her hair. Not hard enough for it to hurt, but enough to move her head closer to his, up to the point she could feel his hot breath playing against her exposed neck. She desperately hoped he did not sense the snaking shiver that slithered up her spine and entangled her chest, enabling her to breathe. Van Pelt hesitated for a moment, his lips slightly agape as they brushed the shell of her ear like a wisping ghost. Then, he spoke in a tone as rich as his laugh. _"I need that stone."_

"You can't have it," Emma murmured inaudibly, but he heard her. He heard every word as clearly as a predator could hear the beating heart of its prey. "I won't give it to you."

"I know you won't; _you_ don't have it."

Emma bit her lip, her toes silently fidgeting in place. "I won't take you to it either."

"I don't need you to take me to it."

Emma's fingers began to tangle then undo themselves. "So, you'll let me go, then?"

"I won't let you go, because then I'll follow you to you're hideout, and you're too smart to fall for that."

Emma's sparkling, emerald green eyes peered up into his own incongruous ones, and she found that it was rather easy to be entranced within his dark gaze. "Then what do you need me for?"

"Easy," he said it as though it was the most simple thing in the world, and once he had said it, it _was_ the most obvious thing. "You're my bargaining chip."

Emma suddenly broke from her frightened haze and she glared at him with a surge of great ferocity and might. "My friends are smart, too," she growled at the man with new-found courage, her green eyes now set ablaze. "They won't fall for any of _your_ tricks."

"I don't need them to," he retorted simply again, giving her a small, indifferent shrug. Then, his eyes flashed that same dark green Emma knew she had seen before. "And yet they're too foolish to get you back on their own."

"They'll find a way," she snapped, raising on the tips of her toes in order to get some sort of advantage over him. Although, it did not have quite the same effect she had hoped for; she had only managed to come nose-to-nose with the handsome mercenary, and she had gotten this close only because he was looking down at her as well. This did not discourage her though, and she hissed in the same brutality as before, "they'll find a way to give the stone back to the jaguar, and if that means leaving me behind to do it, then they will."

"Now, that's not the truth, is it? We _both_ know it's not," Van Pelt stated, instantly catching Emma in the trap that was her obvious lie.

Emma bit her lip hard, her brain scouring itself for some sort of response; something that would defuse the situation, something to get her away from this man, but she could think of nothing at all. The tightening of his fingers that still entrapped her hair reminded Emma that she was still caught by his steel-tight grip, and she knew she had to think of something fast. Without having any sort of idea of what to do, she did the very first thing she could think of, which was to play along with his little game. She reached out and put her hands on the taller man's shoulders, willing her quickening shy gaze to remain on nothing but his own eyes as her chest quivered and her trembling fingers daintily danced across the fabric of his thick jacket.

"So, what are you going to do to me then, Mr. Van Pelt?" she whispered, her feet edging ever so slightly to the right, pivoting towards a possible escape. "Lock me up in an iron cage? Throw me in a bottomless pit? Tie me to a luxurious tree?" Every question slithered off her tongue and into his ear, and every second she inched her feet further and further away, the movement seemingly going undetected by him.

Her eyes dared to flicker to her right, then immediately back to his own, but it was enough for her to get a good look at an escape route. All she had to do was move him – just give him one good, unsuspected push – and she was home free.

"No," he murmured back, his fingers finally allowing her hair to drop back into place against her rosy cheeks, his hands instead choosing to set firmly against her hips. The feeling was of immediate fire as his hot flesh seethed her skin, even through the barrier of her shirt and jacket. It was not an unpleasant feeling, Emma would admit, however sudden and odd a sensation it might have been. A strange sense of harsh fluttering sprouted from his hands and mushroomed into the hollow cavity of her chest, giving her a sudden light-headed sensation she had never felt before.

It was a very short-lasting feeling, however, because in the next moment she found herself facing the thick, nature-made wall once more as her arms were trapped behind her, her wrist entangled within a finely-tied string of inch-thick rope.

"You're coming back to camp with me," the mercenary said as he finished tying the rope, giving it one last harsh tug for good measure. Emma gasped as the flesh of her hands and wrist pinched and twisted. Without thinking, she whipped herself around as fast as a flash of lightning and landed a well-aimed boot to the man's side. Van Pelt grunted in instant pain and doubled over. Unfortunately, he did not let go of the ropes like Emma had hoped he would and instead held his side with only one hand.

Emma reared her leg back again, fully intending to deliver a hard knee to his pretty face when the hand that had previously been holding his side suddenly shot out in front of him, catching the blow of her knee head-on and stopping her in her tracks. Emma glared venomously and let out a ferocious growl, jerking and twisting her body to try and get away from her kidnapper.

Her fight was in all in vain, though, and within moments it became painfully obvious to the both of them that Van Pelt far exceeded Emma in both size and strength; those, unfortunately, being the determining factors of close combat. Emma did not have the strength of muscle or size, but she did have stealth on her side. Which, that only really helped when the enemy didn't know she was there to begin with.

Van Pelt's smirk was gone, and instead his face held a glare far more sinister than what Emma's ever could be, and she was known to cast some dangerous glares. His hair was disheveled and strands dangled in his face, but he did not seem to care as his hands squeezed Emma's knee and wrist tightly. However, his glare had not lasted long. A soft, painful moan escaped from Emma's panting lips as her wide gaze stared wildly at the man before her, completely sure that he would kill her for what she had done. Van Pelt's own eyes widened slightly at the look of the poor girl. She seemed like a caged, feral animal; scared and hurt and cornered. And just like that, his glare was gone as well as the grip on her leg.

Emma couldn't keep her sudden curiosity hidden as her brow furrowed at the man. Wasn't he the bad guy? Why did he suddenly look... she wasn't sure how he looked, but it was definitely not a face she would expect a villain to make. Before she could question it further, she was swung around – much gentler than the first time he had done so – and she felt a rough hand push against her back. "Move it," Van Pelt hissed, the tone suddenly very detached.

With her hands tied excruciatingly tight behind her back, one strong hand holding the ropes while the other pushing her forward, Emma was hit with the realization that she, Emma Adams, after being trapped in _Jumanji_ for so many months, had finally been caught by the enemy.

* * *

 ** _A/N: So, they have finally met! Gah! This was so much fun to write and I just couldn't stop smiling! Does everyone else like this as much as I do? What do you all think of it? I absolutely adore reading your comments!_**


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: I have finally published chapter 6. I know it has taken me entirely too long, and I greatly apologize for that. A lot of things have happened to me and it simply has not been the greatest year for me. With all that I have been going through, I lost my inspiration to write anything. However, this summer, although both a blessing in some instances and a curse, has done me good. I even managed to get accepted to Quarts Mountain Arts Institute for my writing, where I focused on personal poetry and growth as a person and a writer. Things have gotten better and I have officially started my college career and I will be joining the National Guard in a couple months, which I have high hopes for. I know none of this means much to you guys and it is no excuse of why I have left you all waiting so long for this story, but I hope this long update will mean something.**_

 _ **I promise to do better and I sincerely hope I have not disappointed anyone.**_

* * *

Emma Adams stumbled forward through the darkness, disgruntled sounds escaping her throat as she struggled for a moment to catch her footing. Her arms shot out and waved as best as they could in front of herself as she scrambled for something to settle herself with. However, she found that she had no need of it as the large, impossibly strong hands of Van Pelt clasped around her tiny hips and steadied her. She only allowed his help for as long as it took her to get her balance and not a moment longer. She slapped his hands away from her then crossed her arms over her chest, hoping the move would hide her embarrassment. "Stop pushing me," she snapped at him harshly.

"Then stop stopping," her kidnapper barked back in an instant, his dark brow furrowed in obvious agitation. Without allowing Emma a chance to speak again, he spun her back around by her shoulders and gave her a harsh shove forward. Luckily, Emma was able to keep herself from stumbling this time. After giving the man a stern glare over her shoulder, the small blonde woman huffed and marched on through the dark wood as though the path were as straight and smooth as an arrow.

They had been walking for what felt like days to Emma. Although, she knew it could only have been a few hours. The moon was now directly overhead both the prisoner and captor as they traveled through thick bushes and briers and around towering trees and under their looming branches. The moonlight was doing very little to light up the scraggly path they were to follow that night, however unfortunate it was for Emma, while the pushy mercenary didn't seem to be bothered by the darkness. After many minutes - or was it hours? - of complaining, Van Pelt finally relented to re-tying her bound hands in front of her so she was able to somewhat feel around herself. It was not as much help as she thought it would be, but she supposed it was better than nothing.

If Emma allowed herself to, she could forget that Van Pelt was even there, he was so quiet. His steps were slow and manipulated perfectly, and he himself carried an air of elegance about his shoulders. He was as sleek and careful as a cat – the complete opposite of Emma.

From what Emma could see through the thick, oily blackness that surrounded her like a heavy cloak, she very well could have been marching to her death for all she knew. Hiding within the clusters of bushes could hide a jaguar ready to pounce and shred: poisonous critters could drop from the treetops and land in her hair; maybe she would even fall into a pit full of spikes. Only her imagination could possibly hold the answers for her as she could see none of these things.

As these thoughts entered her mind, Emma was doing her best to find a way around a particularly thick fallen tree surrounded by fat clumps of shrubs and briers. The only clear path seemed to veer off to the right, however, there was a significantly darker mark in direct line of the path that looked rather ominous to her. It could have merely been a shadow of a tree, or it could have been a large and gaping hole for all she knew. She paused, trying to get a closer look at the shadow on the path and decipher just what it was. She did not have the chance, though, because in the next moment she was being pushed forward once again.

"Would you _stop_ that already?" she growled once she had caught her footing. She spun around to face the scowling man with a dark glower of her own. Jabbing a finger at his chest, Emma spat, "if you are able to see so much more than me, then why don't _you_ lead?"

Van Pelt did not take a liking to the condescending tone she had used; Emma knew as much by the look that instantly morphed his already angered features. Before her very eyes, the rather handsome face of the man before her contorted into that of pure rage. His thick brow scrunched, his darkened eyes crinkling at the side in a very unfriendly way, and his lips formed a very firm line. Suddenly, Van Pelt's finger was thrust into her own face, startling her so much that she jumped back a few inches. "You will watch your tongue, girl," he hissed through his teeth. "People have been hurt for far less than your sharp attitude." And with that, he twirled her back around in one fluid movement and shoved her along once again into the dark.

Emma could not get her head around the situation at all. How could she, considering what all she had been through, _possibly_ allow herself to be captured by the one man she had spent months running from? She thought she had everything planned out. The game was all very routined. It always has been. For weeks she had tracked the NPCs, learned their patterns, and calculated their next moves. Just like every other video game she played, the NPCs were not very advanced in their characters, nor did they have any life outside their programmed sentences and continuous actions. They all had patterns - especially the bad guys.

All of it had been the same. All except for Van Pelt.

Nothing he did was repeated exactly. Everything he said was new, and he responded perfectly to what Emma said. It was almost like he was not an NPC at all, but an actual living human. It was impossible, she knew, which is why she could not seem to figure him out.

 _'If he's a part of the game, then why does he act so real?'_

 _'If he's an NPC, then why does he have so many different automated responses?'_

 _'Is he a new, more advanced adaptation of the game?'_

' _Is the game evolving?'_

Questions like these and many more circled Emma's skull almost to the point it hurt. She faintly feared the questions were doomed to forever bump and swirl and scream for answers. She pushed this thought away very quickly. It just couldn't be possible for them to go unanswered! After all, if the evil mercenary Van Pelt really was an NPC, then it should become obvious to her soon, right?

As the multitude of thoughts raced around, her fingers began to twitch at the uncertainty, itching for her carefully hidden weapons.

Besides confiscating the obvious hunting knife and pistol holstered around her waist and the twin-sets of throwing knives in her shoulder strap, Van Pelt had not stripped her completely of her weapons. She had a few more secrets up her sleeve; a small switchblade hidden within a pouch in her hunting knife's sheath and another stashed inside her right boot as well as two daggers hidden inside her jacket– nothing that could kill, but would definitely come in handy. Although small, they would be of definite use and could mean the difference between life and death.

They were also in places she could not reach.

At least, not without stumbling through her binds first and alerting her kidnapper to her plan instantly. However, this fact did not keep Emma from playing over different scenarios in her mind, debating on whether she was up to taking such chances as of yet.

Emma's eyes caught sight of yet another large black mass. This time she did not stop to access it; partly from being lost within her own thoughts and partly from not wanting to be pushed again. This quickly proved to be the wrong decision as the mass had been another fallen tree trunk, which Emma had kicked rather hard by accident. A sharp spike of pain exploded from her smallest right toe. Emma gave a short yelp and she jumped, her injured foot dangling pathetically as she tried to rid the pain by hopping around like a fool. As she did this, Emma stomped on a thick tree branch that rolled under her sudden added weight.

The branch rolled quickly, and Emma flung backwards even quicker. She couldn't even make a sound of surprise before her back slammed against something hard and the muffled huff of Van Pelt was heard as Emma's head and shoulders collided into his stomach. His startled hands grappled around Emma's small form as he, too, began to stumble. His arms were able to awkwardly hook under her armpits before Emma felt herself spin, and she couldn't make out if she was falling or not.

Van Pelt stumbled backward from her sudden weight, his arms trying not to drop the blonde woman as his legs tried to keep them both upright. Then, his lower back came into contact with the large fallen tree and the two fell; him, leaning against the broken tree and her, only being held up by his strong hold.

"Ow," Emma whimpered pathetically, her eyes still adjusting as she tried to make out whether she was upside down or laying on the ground or what. She couldn't even process if she was really hurt at all. Then, Emma was lifted back up to her feet. Before she could put any weight onto her own legs, she was brought firmly against the chest of the man who had saved her from falling. Well, partially saved her.

The press of her small body against his greatly larger one was enough to make Emma gasp in shock and nearly jump away from the touch. Once her eyes flickered up, though, she was instantly ensnared within his own gaze. Her fight caught in her throat and she had to gulp thickly. The look was much more intense than she had ever seen a look, and it made her shiver. His deep eyes were dark, but not in a way that sent her feeling fear. It made her feel very strange, like he was seeing her very soul within her own gaze, and it made her body go numb all over.

Emma couldn't even tell if she was holding herself up, or if it was merely the work of the strong arms wrapped around her lower body that kept her upright. Her hands were resting upon his chest, however unbeknownst to Emma it was, and her fingers had his shirt curled firmly into her tiny fist.

She felt the urge, then, to reach for a knife. She practically had the man pinned to a tree where all she had to do was pick through her side sheath or kick up her boot and she'd be free. So many opportunities for escape were now before her; all she had to do was choose one and act.

"Are you injured?" the words were spoken so low and softly that Emma hardly registered that words had been spoken at all. Once the words settled in her mind, though, and once the meaning truly hit her, she oddly enough found herself at a loss of what to do. Her mind went blank, and all of those freeing scenarios were nothing but fuzz as she searched herself for what to do. All she had to do was reach and grab, and with a single, well-aimed blow, she was home free. It was so easy, so simple a child would know what to do. Why was it suddenly such a hard thing to get her mind around?

Emma cleared her throat and pushed herself away quickly. "I'm fine," is all she dared to mutter, for anything more, and her voice surely would have shook. She could feel the heat rising in the apples of her cheeks and she quickly averted her gaze, but it may not have been for the reason Van Pelt thought.

She was not embarrassed, she was _ashamed_. Emma was ashamed of herself for not acting – for not taking her chance when she had it. Even with her own inner chastising, she still couldn't get the echo of his voice to completely drown out of her ears. " _Are you injured?"_ he had asked her.

 _'Why would he care?'_

With no passing words spoken again by him, he took hold of her bound wrists and led the rest of the way through the woods as silent as a fox in the brush. Emma's mind was absolutely racing while he seemed completely unfazed by what had just taken place. What even took place? Emma was not sure, and no amount of thinking made it any clearer.

It was much longer before the two had gotten anywhere after that. It seemed like countless hours, but could have only been two. Nonetheless, it mattered not to Emma. Her body ached and her legs were still numb and her body still shook, only this time it was from her excessive walking and tripping. When they finally had reached a break in the trees, she could have cried out in joy. Her triumph was cut short once she realized where they had arrived.

They were now on the outskirts of a camp, and a very big one at that. If she had half a mind to, she would have thought it to be a small village by its size, however, the lack of actual structured buildings made it obvious that this clearing was nothing permanent. There were many tents laced through the trees as well as large, hulking jeeps she remembered from a time or two of running for her life from them. Packed even thicker into the relatively small clearing grounds were the men themselves. They had been occupying themselves from within their own huddled group, to which there were many, and each group held at least one blazing fire. Emma tried not to goggle at the freshly cooking food she saw dangling over fires or steaming from a man's dish.

Emma's hunger was quickly overridden once she realized that every pair of eyes in the campsite was now locked on her. She hated being the center of attention; especially if it was the attention of blood-thirsty, murdering, antagonistic mercenaries, game-generated men. Her skin prickled at their multiple condescending and scrutinizing glares and her cheeks began to grow hot. Her own gaze flickered to her dirty shoes and her fingers began to pick at the ends of her tattered shirt.

She felt a tug on her bound wrists and she was sent following her kidnapper down the short hillside and towards the animals of men; away from the safety of the lambs and straight into the lair of the wolves. As the two began their short decent, the men all quickly averted their gaze. Emma sent a short "thank you" to the sky that they had stopped gawking, and she tried to relax her tensed muscles as she edged into a den of predators.

Her composure dissipated as she felt every gaze slowly turn back on her, only daring to burn into the back of her head as she walked. The men kept their heads turned, yet the moment Van Pelt passed them by, Emma seemed to turn into a magnet. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and her entire body hurt as her nerves bounded together, her eyes swiveled this way and that, waiting for an attack she hoped would not come. _'They wouldn't dare,'_ she told herself. _'They won't do anything.'_ Well, it was more of a guess than fact that they would not try anything. After all, she had never exactly had the privilege of being captured by the enemy before, so she was still hazy on what to expect. Emma had tried to keep her eyes from wandering and instead remain strictly planted on the back of Van Pelt's trench coat, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so.

Once the men had their look of her and decided she wasn't too interesting, they went back to their previous mundane actions. All of the strange noises and thick voices soon started up again, followed closely by burst of hearty laughter that had Emma's green eyes bouncing from side to side eagerly. Her curious side was beginning to grow eager being stuck within an enemy camp. After all, how often would she get the chance to study the enemy this close up?

With this thought, she finally allowed her eyes to roam the camp in hopes that she may discover anything of interest. She was quickly disappointed as the only remotely interesting thing she saw were some rather large jeeps and trucks she had never seen before.

Then Emma heard a sound. It was an odd, low hissing sound that made her ears prickle. Her head followed the direction of the odd noise and what she saw made her come to a stop.

Sitting cross-legged on the dirt and grass road to her right was an older man. Bearing a scraggly beard and long hair – once surely a brown color, yet now was filled with streaks of gray and grease. The man peaked at her from behind his streaking hair and beard alike, sending her a blank look with blind eyes. Around his thin shoulders, draped loosely around his throat, arms, and torso, was an absolute monstrous yellow snake, which was looking directly at her.

Its triangular head bobbed and swayed as though it were dancing in the cool night air and its tongue flickered lightly as it tasted her scent. Its large, blackened dew-drop eyes looked directly into her own non-blinking ones as she quickly found herself paralyzed. She could not move away from the man and his snake, and yet she could not go towards them either. She was trapped at a standstill, not knowing which choice would be the lesser of the two dangers.

She did not have to wonder for long.

Taking it upon itself to make the choice for her, the snake lunged.

It came with no warning, nor did it give her time to react. Emma let out a shrill shriek as she flinched rapidly away from the creature's snapping head. In her flight, she managed to bump into something tall and sturdy and her instincts kicked in as she grabbed at the object, forcing it between herself and the attacking snake.

She waited for the impact, for the sting of poison that would steal away one of her lives, yet nothing happened. Her eyes, which had been shut tightly in anticipation, slowly blinked open. Emma peaked out from around the safety object she held, her brow scrunched in both confusion and curiosity as she saw the snake now loosely wrapped around the old man's shoulders once more, showing her very little interest in anything, acting as though nothing had happened.

Deep, rumbling laughter filled her ears then, and her body vibrated in tune with the thick trimmers. Her heart leaped into her throat and she very well might have choked as her safety object breathed beneath her. Out of pure fear she had tried to keep safe which, unfortunately, blinded her from paying attention to her surroundings. The object she had grabbed to use as protection was not - well, she wasn't really sure what she had grabbed, but she certainly did not mean for it to be this!

Her dainty arms were wrapped tightly around the forearm of Van Pelt, her hands still clutching the brown leather of his trench coat. She must have made a face, because within an instant, further explosions of laughter bellowed out around her and her foolishness. She felt the blood rush through her entire face at the ridicule and she cursed herself. Her idiocy continued to replay in her mind as her eyes began to sting and her lips formed a trembling pout. So many months spent inside this game, and yet somehow she could still be this _stupid_?

The laughter stopped.

It had stopped so suddenly that it almost startled Emma. Her eyes flickered from her downcast gaze and she glanced around the camp. Not a man was sparing her a look. Her brow furrowed, staring in confusion as she blinked away the extra moisture in her eyes. Then she felt a soft tug from between her palms. Her eyes snapped forward, only to find that she was still wrapped around Van Pelt at the elbow and she suddenly wondered how he had not managed to cast her away from him yet.

She looked at him, waiting for him to give some answer in the form of harsh words or hurtful actions, yet he did nothing. In fact, he did not even look at her. Instead, he began walking again, and only so. Emma wasn't sure if she was to let go of him or not, so she kept her hold, albeit not as tightly as before. Van Pelt did not seem to mind, nor did he really pay her any attention to her at all for that matter.

Emma felt ashamed. Emma was mad at herself. She hated herself. She was stuck to the man's side like a babe to its mother's breast; like a slave beaten into submission. She was being the dutiful little damsel in distress and he didn't even need to lay a finger on her! With this thought in mind, Emma quickly came back to her senses and dropped the man's appendage like it had caught fire and brushed herself off like she had come into contact with something dirty.

No longer would she play the helpless little victim; no more would she simply role over when there were people who needed her.

Van Pelt didn't miss a step as he grabbed a hold of Emma once again. It only took him a second for her tied hands to be bound within his monstrous grasp. He continued to pull her along, and she did not struggle. All she had to do was buy her time, and the right time would come. She would play his game of scared little girl and big bad kidnapper. For now.

Emma followed Van Pelt through the campsite and, to her relief, the men seemed to have lost interest in her completely. They walked without incident, and they did not stop until they reached the entrance to one of the larger tents of the site. From there, Van Pelt halted in place very suddenly and nearly caused Emma to smash her face into his shoulder.

"Sit."

Emma flinched at the word, the suddenness of it like an explosion deep within her ears. She hadn't even caught what the word was. She gulped thickly, her bright green eyes flickering up to meet his own mismatched ones as she blinked dumbly.

" _Sit_ ," the man repeated himself harshly with a pointing gesture. Emma's eyes traveled the length of his arm toward what he was pointing at, and only then did she see the old, dilapidated wooden chair. Her eyes flickered down to the object and she blinked again, her brain unable to comprehend the simple command for a moment. It must have been a moment too long because in the next moment, Van Pelt snatched her upper arm and pushed her abrasively into the splintering chair, which creaked at her sudden weight.

" _Hey_!" Emma hollered and slapped his hand away. Her mouth began to form the words of some insult, yet she was once more cut off by the man as she had been many times that evening. The thing to silence her now was not a harsh shove or dark glare or snapping words, but a knife. A very large, very sharp hunting knife the size of her forearm.

As quick as lightning, Van Pelt snatched her tiny wrist and gave it a hard squeeze. He then brought up the knife and with one fatal swoop, the ropes were sent tumbling around her ankles. Emma jumped instantly and she yanked her arms from his grasp, bringing her now free hands protectively against her chest. Her piercing eyes never left his own as her fingers rubbed at the raw, bloody scuffs around her thin wrist, her brow creased as she eyed him like an injured, rabid animal.

And yet Emma was not ready when Van Pelt began reaching out to her once more, and she did not act quick enough. In even less time than what it took for him to cut her restraints, her chin was now trapped within his steeled fingers. Her hands flew up and gripped around his wrist as she tried to push him away. It was no use and he didn't seem to budge an inch, nor did he flinch when she dug her nails into his flesh. Emma still struggled against his hold, and she did not stop until she felt ice on her cheek.

The icy bite of the brilliantly sharp weapon raked across the fuzz of her cheek. A sharp chill raced down her spine and made her heart leap within her chest. Emma tried to slow her increasingly erratic breathing from getting any worse, even though the sharp point of the blade was close enough to brush against her lashes.

Van Pelt ignored Emma's growing fear as he inspected her. His mixed eyes scanned across her smooth, rosy-tinged cheeks and her angry furrowed brow. He studied the curve of her temple and down to her cheekbone, then to her gently pointed nose and soft lips.

Emma felt his eyes linger on her lips and watched as his dark brow scrunched. She couldn't understand the look, though. She had never seen such a look pass over someone, let alone someone looking at her. It was like he was trying to figure something out himself, yet there was also the presence of a sort of... sadness. That was the closest thing her mind could come up with. It was sadness.

Her confusion was quickly driven out as the chilling tip of the blade met the corner of her bottom lip. Emma gasped at the feeling, her lips parting lightly at this action. She realized her mistake and instantly froze, desperately hoping her lip wouldn't twitch and cause herself to get cut. Emma watched the strange eyes of Van Pelt as he pushed the blade lightly against her, pressing her plump lips with that same look of curiosity and sadness as before. The blade slid further towards the middle of her bottom lip and a twinge of pain met the front of her face. Emma hissed at the sting, but she dared not move, especially when Van Pelt's eyes flickered up to meet hers.

They stared at each other for a few moments. Emma couldn't figure out what to do. On one hand, she wanted to be angry that he had cut her. And yet she was unable to get herself to act past trying to decipher the odd look he gave her. It was almost like he was concerned for her, but she knew it couldn't be possible. After all, he was the enemy. When did the cat ever feel concern for the mouse?

Within only a few moments, he was gone. Emma blinked a couple of times as her eyes tried to adjust to her surroundings, searching for the man who had disappeared so suddenly. She turned around in her seat, only to catch sight of his trench coat getting swallowed up by the dark flaps of the large tent's entrance.

Emma waited for a few moments, her eyes latched onto the dark entryway, waiting for him to reappear back into sight. When he did not show up for a couple of heartbeats, she realized how dumb she must have looked, waiting for him like a dog for its master.

Emma huffed and crossed her arms across her chest while also swinging her right leg over her left. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes firmly, thinking crude and nasty things about the entire situation she had found herself in.

She tired of it quickly.

Deciding that there were no nearby snakes to snatch at her, Emma allowed herself to scan the area as she finally took the time to collect her scrambled thoughts. She had been captured by the enemy, this she knew. She was now definitely in an enemy camp, this she also knew. She knew that these mercenaries were a lot more prepared than what she and Alex had first thought.

The first thing she noticed was that the clearing was greatly lit up by both standing lamps and flames roaring in pits, which allowed her to see things much better than she would have from simply moonlight. The clearing was splattered with tents, some large and some small, and were colored either a sun-faded green or a sandy white tan. The next thing she noticed was the military-grade trucks. They were huge things with a bulky bed protected by tarps. She could only guess as to what was on the other side of those flapping, taunting entrances.

The last thing she noticed was the painful fact that there was no escape. At least, not now. The clearing was so cluttered that, even if she _had_ managed to escape the hundreds of clawing, angry hands of the men, she would probably trip on something before reaching the treeline. Every few feet there was a bonfire, and at every burst of flames sat a dozen or so men, and between them like tiny landmines were canteens, clothes, ropes, and god knows what else. Running would be a mess, and she wasn't sure she could sneak away either. All of the men still seemed at least somewhat interested in her presence. She couldn't imagine the big and scary lead mercenary brought damsels in distress back to camp very often. The occurrence must have been so rare that every man just _had_ to sneak a look or two at her, and she could feel every last one.

Emma couldn't help but slowly and aggressively build up a rage inside her. A rage at both the mercenaries and herself. How could she be so foolish as to allow herself to be captured? She should have been more observant. Why did her luck allow her to be brought to an entire nest full of bad guys, making her escape utterly implausible? And most of all, why did she turn to an idiotic mound of flesh whenever faced with the terrifying leader Van Pelt?

As though some God-like power had been listening to her inner ramblings, her said kidnapper reappeared from the tent. That God-like power must really not like her.

Emma's heart was thumping again, but whether it was from actual fear or mere anticipation, she did not know. Every footstep he took sent her closer and closer to wanting to bolt, but she forced herself to remain still. Her hands gripped the seat of her chair impossibly tight as she glared at the ground and waited – for what, she hadn't a clue. Maybe it was for that insult or assault she had expected earlier. Maybe she was waiting for the feeling of a gun against her temple. When Van Pelt stopped beside her, she did not dare herself to look at him.

She averted her eyes not out of fear or submission, but out of spite and anger; this she _was_ sure of.

She was tired of playing his game. She would not allow herself to become paralyzed by his presence nor would she become a damned damsel. He wanted to toy with her? Fine. She would play along, but not by any means of his rules. If he wanted to throw insults, she'd throw them back harder. If he wanted to strike her, she'd strike faster. If he wanted to kick her, she'd kick him where it hurt. She was perfectly ready for any of these scenarios.

Van Pelt took a step closer then swiftly dropped to a crouch, his face suddenly obstructing her view of the forest floor as he knelt before her. He held that same intense look from earlier as his eyes raked over her once more. He took out his knife again. Emma's body tensed, her muscles readying in anticipation of a fight she knew she would lose but would get at least a few good hits in.

Her piercing eyes watched with a feral blaze as the blade glistened in the light of the fires, the flickering shadows making the weapon seem almost alive as Van Pelt inspected its sharpness. Emma waited patiently as her nerves strained almost to the point it was painful as her brain screamed out its warning signs. Her hands gripped the chair so tightly, yet she hadn't even noticed when the old wood started splintering.

Van Pelt's eyes gazed at the blade thoroughly, taking in every nick and jagged edge it might have had, then brought it back down to his lap. Emma's eyes followed the movement, completely ready to kick him if he went gashing for her legs. What she saw instead made everything she had been encouraging herself evaporate, leaving her mind blank and confused once more.

Laying across Van Pelt's lap was a leaf. It was a very odd leaf with its thick, rounded edges and pointed tip. Up along the shaft of the plant were tiny, razor sharp thorns that Emma could only just see through the dark. The hand that held the leaf was concealed in a very thick looking glove which broke away the thorns as he turned the leaf around. On the other side of what she had thought to be a cylinder shape was, to her surprise, rather flat, and she could now clearly see where the leaf had been cut from whatever plant it previously grew on. It was here that Van Pelt placed the knife, not against her skin like Emma thought, and he began to carve the leaf.

With only a few short slices, Van Pelt had successfully peeled the skin off the leaf and he discarded the thin green layers to the dirt floor. He wiped his knife against his pant leg and returned it to its holder on his belt. With his index finger, Van Pelt scooped up the jelly-like insides of the leaf and raised his hand towards Emma. Seeing the action woke Emma from her confused state and she instantly backed away from his reaching hand.

The man hesitated. "Come here." His tone was riddled with authority, yet it did nothing to drive Emma to listen. She shook her head and backed up more when his hand grew closer. He stopped again, this time his brow knitting in agitation. " _Come here_ ," he said again, his voice a smidgen louder than before.

"No."

The two's eyes locked; both equally defiant, both equally confused. Van Pelt's eyes flickered with realization and he sighed heavily, his outstretched arm coming back to rest on his lap. "It's not poison," he said, and Emma could practically hear the eye roll in his tone.

"And how do I know that's true?" she countered back. She tightened her crossed arms over her chest and stuck her nose up. "You're not touching me with that stuff."

The man stared at her for a long moment. In fact, he stared for so long that Emma suddenly felt very foolish for some reason. Then he laughed, and she felt even more foolish.

Emma's eyes blinked open as she looked down at the man before her. His handsome face bore a small, lop-sided grin as he shook his head. There he goes, confusing her again.

With little warning, Van Pelt brought his goo-covered finger up to his lips and licked the glistening plant gel. Emma nearly gagged at the sight. The man himself looked to be holding back his tongue's rejection of the plant, the evidence clear by the scowl his face now held. Even so, he somehow managed to swallow the stuff with some magical feat Emma could never possess.

A quick shutter ran through his body, then he was fine. Or at least, he _seemed_ fine. Van Pelt looked back at her that previous small, lop-sided smile on his face again as he quirked a dark brow at her own scrunched features. The smile was one of a challenge "It's not poison, although the taste wouldn't tell you that," he chuckled darkly. Emma wasn't sure what she was more worried about; the thought of her having to eat that stuff or the meaning behind Van Pelt's words. He suddenly reached for her again, another glob of jelly getting dangerously close to her.

Emma pushed herself further into the back of the chair and shook her head firmly. "I'm not eating that either." Van Pelt paused, then he really did roll his eyes.

"It's not to eat," he growled synthetically. Emma heard a dull _'thump'_ as something hit the floor by her feet. Before she had a chance to react, he was darting for her. Van Pelt had dropped the plant in his right hand and snatched Emma's face within the large, gloved right appendage rather tightly. His thick fingers clasped around her chin and he squeezed, holding her head firmly in place. Before she could lash out, a cool and oddly satisfying sensation flooded the right side of Emma's face.

Van Pelt had managed to smear the goo along her right cheekbone, directly and very close under her eye. The instant soothing feeling prickled gently at her skin and she quickly found that she liked the feeling; so much so that Emma found herself unable to pull away from the potentially dangerous plant gel.

Although she was definitely liking the feeling of the gel, she did not allow her guard to crumble. Her large eyes watched him unblinkingly as he continued to rub his finger gently across her cheek. "What are you doing to me?" she managed to muffle out through strained lips. His eyes flickered to hers for a moment, then returned to her forehead where she felt the cooling sensation bloom across her left temple.

"You're hurt," was all he said. All trace of that mocking, lop-sided grin was gone and was instead replaced by that overly intense look she now knew so well.

All Emma could muster was a small, "oh." She hadn't realized she was hurt. She hadn't had the time to realize she was hurt. She half believed that her adrenaline had been so high that she could have been running on a broken leg without realizing it. Now the adrenaline is long gone and the mention of wounds caused her entire body to ache instantaneously.

Van Pelt reached for another scoop of the jelly and seemed to only just realize that the plant had fallen. His strange gaze bounced back to hers; that dark look returned. He was warning her not to move. When his gloved hand finally unclasped itself from her face, she did just that. Her hand shot up to her cheek and she rubbed intently at the goo-covered scratch. When the gel touched her fingers, she gave a look of disgust, but did nothing more.

"What is this?" she asked.

Emma jumped when she suddenly felt his hands on her own and her gaze flew down to see what he was up to. He held both of her hands within his gloved one - which made her feel terribly small – and he began to spread the magical cooling goo along her wrist. The sting of her rope burn was not evident before, yet now her wrist seemed on fire in places he had not yet covered. He twisted her arms around and she let out a hiss of pain as her raw skin shifted and pulled. He stopped, his entire body froze as he waited – for what, she could not guess and her breath caught in anticipation. In moments that seemed far too long for her liking, he smeared the goo along the tops of her hands and wrists. As he did so, the pain instantly began to dissipate and she sighed in instant relief.

"It's medicine," was all he said.

Emma watched Van Pelt work; first taking his glove off, then back to holding her hands. With the glove now off, he used both hands to gently massage her injured and raw wrist and scratched arms and sore hands. Emma couldn't even feel sickened by the slimy texture as his fingers smoothed the jelly up and down her small arms and between her fingers. His scratchy, calloused palms added to the odd, calming sensation. His movements were slow and precise, his grip gentle and soothing, and Emma wondered why people didn't get their arms and hands massaged more often - which was probably a weird thing to think about.

"Thank you," she said quietly and suddenly. She was still taken aback by the entire ordeal. She wasn't sure what his future plans for her were, but she supposed that a "thank you" was in order. If this plant really did work to heal her wounds, one would think she should be grateful. If this plant ended up killing her, she decided it would be a good way to go. Better than betraying her friends, she supposed.

The man said nothing and made no acknowledgment that he had heard her. She did not say anything more.

After spreading the gel on a few wounds on her legs, which she would have found very inappropriate and would not have allowed if not for the gel's effect on her, Emma was thoroughly splotched with goo and feeling numb and tingly all over. Once he was satisfied that all her wounds had been covered, Van Pelt pushed himself off the ground and began to brush off the dust and dirt on his black pants. As he turned to walk away, Emma grabbed the end of his trench coat.

She wasn't sure why she had done it. Hell, she didn't really understand _anything_ that had taken place tonight. For months she had imagined what it would have been like to be captured by enemy troops. Being cornered by their leader, dragged through the jungle and taken to a campsite full of evil mercenaries, then getting her wounds treated by him with some amazing medical herb all in the same night had truthfully never been a thought to her until now.

What even was this game? What game would allow the villain to aid the protagonists? How could a game-generated man be able to have so many emotions and so many perfect reactions to her countless questioning? Her attention then turned to the multitude of men before her, all of them moving about the campsite with no real purpose; all repeating one movement or sentence or both after another.

"Are you really a creation of the game?" she asked quietly, watching some man offer bread to another seated next to him. The older male shook his head and let out an "uh-uh," then she watched as the entire process repeated itself for what must have been the dozenth time that evening.

She heard a dark chuckle escape Van Pelt, and she could not bear to see his face. She did not want to see the harsh, critical look that came with that laugh. "So that's what we are; creations of a game?" he murmured harshly, yet his voice was soft – bitter. He huffed out a rough sigh. "It makes since, I guess."

He acknowledged her question. No one other than Alex had ever acknowledged that question. A twinge of hope flickered somewhere within her as she scanned the campsite. "Are any of them like you?"

"No," he said almost instantly, his voice low and thick. Then he walked away, the corner of his coat slipping from her grasp. Emma didn't put up much of a fight to keep a hold of it as that twinge of hope was quickly and hatefully snuffed out.

They were just NPCs.

All of them.

Even Van Pelt. He had to be.

And yet, he was still able to have an actual conversation with her...

Emma had no idea how this was possible, nor why she had only just discovered this. She and Alex had been alone for so long in this wretched game with no one else to talk to. Sure, they both cared deeply for the other, but two was quite a lonely number in this world. Never in her life would Emma have thought that, one day, she would walk into a marketplace filled with bustling people and have no one to talk to. Never had she wanted to live repeat days of the same day over and over again and have no way of ever changing it.

Now there was this man; this completely mysterious man that was created by the game, yet seemed... aware of the world around him. He was something different in the game. It's something that, deep down, Emma craved. She craved human contact.

"Girl," she heard Van Pelt suddenly call from behind her. She knew exactly who the voice was referring to, and she swiveled around in her chair to see Van Pelt standing at the entrance of the large tent he had disappeared into before, motioning her with a beckoning hand. Then he disappeared into the swallowing darkness hidden behind the tent flaps.

Should she go? Should she stay seated in the chair? Should she follow this strange man into his private tent with no escape plan and no one to help? She nibbled on her lip desperately, then stood up and followed Van Pelt into the tent. The temptation was too great for her to resist. Even the mere thought of there being a coherent being on the other side of those tarps was too much for the poor young woman to handle – even if that being was the villain. Her desperate need as a human being for basic human contact had been starved of that requirement of life, and now it was sending her straight into the ravenous jaws of a monster.

When she entered the tent, the first thing to register was that it was a lot brighter than she had thought, with the lamps that hung from sturdy poles that also worked at keeping the tent held up. Then she realized that the inside looked a lot bigger than the outside. Standing mightily in the far left corner was an ancient bookshelf filled with little knickknacks and strange objects she had never seen before. She also saw the odd plant from before, which had a shape that was almost fern-like.

There was a large table to her left that was covered in maps and charts and notes and just about every other kind of paper she could imagine, all scattered haphazardly with some scattered about the floor. Accompanying the papers were a great assortment of knives and rope and bullet shells. What beautiful, _deadly_ weapons.

Directly in front of her was a large pull-out bed, dressed very neatly in gorgeous silk covers of red. A corner was pulled back, revealing pristine white sheets and two very enticing pillows decorated with tangles of roses and thorns etched in elegant gold thread. Van Pelt stood at the end of the bed, his arms behind his back and looking at her with his usual scowl. His tight stance and stern scowl reminded Emma of a military general and she didn't find that all too surprising considering why this man was even created.

When Van Pelt decided that she had had enough sightseeing in his tent, he interrupted her thoughts loudly with, "you sleep here tonight."

Emma could only stare at him. She gulped thickly, now starting to regret not staying outside on the chair. Step by horrendous step, she inched closer to the man and the bed, her mind absolutely racing. Would she have to share the bed with him? Was all of that pampering with the gel just some trick of a man? Tonight, here in the open and welcoming arms of the silk sheets, would she die?

She stalked towards him like a terrified kitten, ready to hiss at the big scary dog, knowing it could very well be snapped in half by pure strength alone. But Emma's eyes did not falter and she did not cower in fear. If she were to die, she was going to give him one hell of a fight before doing so, and she let it show on her face.

Van Pelt made no sign that he cared. He almost seemed to mock her as he watched her stalk closer, his expression now bored and unamused as he waited. This did not deter Emma. She walked right up to him, looked him dead in his dark eyes, and sat on his bed, desperately trying to ignore her tensing muscles and thunderous heart. However, she had not gotten very far with this act as Van Pelt had suddenly grabbed her upper arm and dragged her back up to her feet. She instantly straightened her back and raised her chin definitely, ready to spit what she could right in his face.

Nothing could prepare her for what he did next.

Van Pelt grabbed her left hand and forced her palm upward, then presented his other hand which held a gigantic, furious, _scorpion_.

Emma shrieked and tried desperately to yank her hand away, but his grip on her wrist was too strong. Her right hand snatched at him. She pounded on his arms, his shoulders, his chest, yet he did not falter. She pulled and jerked and growled and bared her teeth like a wild dog. She frantically tried to get herself away from the damned creature in his palm. She felt like she had been hit with a stone in her gut as she realized she could not escape. she was a caged animal waiting to die.

"So it's true." She could hardly hear his voice above her own frantic panting and wheezing, but she knew what it meant.

The evil, deadly, nasty thing dropped into her trapped palm and she screamed again, tears now stinging her eyes hatefully. Her mouth was moving and words were coming out, but the only thing she could understand was the ugly thing in her hand, poised and ready to kill her. She must have been begging.

The scorpion crawled around her flesh tentatively, its disgusting tail uncoiled and its stinger rose high as it readied to strike. Emma could feel every prickly, clawing leg scratched at her delicate palm and she felt sick. She could hear every soft, angered clicking and clacking sound it made as it raised its fat body high and defensively, and she nearly vomited out of pure fear alone.

And just like that, the thing was gone. She could hardly manage to see through her panicked, clouded mind, but she knew that it had crawled back into Van Pelt's palm, and that it had disappeared up his sleeve. "Oh my God," she whimpered in horror, still trying to pull free of the man's clawed grasp.

Her eyes met Van Pelt's and she was absolutely sickened by the curiosity that filled them. She had just given away the game. They would all die because of her. She had ruined everything.

"You have the same weaknesses as her," Van Pelt hissed and his eyes gleamed with the newfound information. He released his hold on her and Emma dropped onto the bed like a pile of discarded, shattered rubble.

 _'Oh my God.'_ It kept playing in her mind. _'Oh my God. What have I done?'_

"Which means the rest of your group has the same weaknesses as the bodies they reside in."

 _'Oh my God,_ ' her mind replayed. _'Oh my God. I've killed everyone.'_ Over and over it echoed scornfully like a broken record she could not fix. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she angrily wiped away the tears that fell, the never-ending siren of _'oh my God,'_ ringing painfully in her ears as her heart trembled beneath her broken chest.

She hadn't even realized that he was touching her again, but when she did, it was too late. As though his hands were slithering snakes – or the striking tail of a scorpion – Van Pelt had undone her belt on her pants and ripped it from the belt loops in one harsh tug, causing her empty knife sheath and pistol holster to clatter to the floor. He shoved her back hard onto the soft bed and his hands began to roam her body. She felt bile rising in her chest, but she could do nothing.

His calloused fingers ripped open her jacket and the broken buttons went flying. no time was wasted as he reached into the inner pockets and he tugged at the previously hidden dagger, which he promptly removed and tossed to the floor. Then he was dragging the boots off of her feet. First her left, then right, which revealed her third and last hidden weapon.

Van Pelt lost interest in the disheveled girl before him very quickly once he was sure he had all of her weapons out of her reach. With no regard for the assault she had just endured nor of the assault she thought she surely would endure, Van Pelt gathered up the only things that could have possibly saved her and began to leave the tent.

"That doesn't matter, you know," Emma sniffed. He stopped. Emma pushed herself up to a sitting position and quickly started resetting her tattered clothes, hoping to conceal her modesty which was surprisingly still intact. Her eyes were ablaze as remnants of her tears dripped. She was angry. She was beyond angry. She was furious. She had no weapons to protect herself and the man of her nightmares now knew not only her deadly weakness, but the rest of her friends as well.

 _And it was all her fault._

"We have their strengths too," she growled, referring to the bodies her and her friends currently harbored. Van Pelt may know some of their weaknesses, but that didn't mean he knew all of them. They _did_ still have their character's strengths, and that thought was enough encouragement for her. "We will use our strengths to return the Eye of the Jaguar and finish what _you_ started." He cocked his head to the side, showing he was listening, yet he did not give her the satisfaction of giving his full attention. If her eyes could bestow the look she threw at the wretched man's back, Van Pelt would surely be wishing for death. "You may think you've won, but you're sorely mistaken. With our strengths, we can bury your campsites with _empires!_ "

Finally Van Pelt faced Emma, that long-forgotten lop-sided smirk gracing his features as his dark eyes gleamed pure evil through the dim lighting. "And yet, it only takes one weakness to destroy them all."

* * *

 _ **Thank you everyone for sticking with this story**_


	7. Chapter 7

The early morning sun shone lightly though the gape in the tent entrance, causing Emma to squint and groan. She blinked open her eyes, trying to focus on the ceiling above her through her sleepy haze. The velvety comforter enveloped her and she sunk deeply into the cushion. From outside her temporary room, the songs of the birds could be heard drifting from their hidden branches among the leaves. It seemed like a very fine morning, yet none of this came as a comfort to Emma.

The light outside did nothing more than shine a light on the lavish cage that enclosed her. The bed sheets were constraining her; slowly enclosing around her small frame and suffocating her to the point she could hardly breathe. The birds that chirped their joyous souls only mocked her loss of freedom.

Emma sighed solemnly as she gathered the strength to sit up. Her arms quivered and a sharp chill raced through her spine, followed by a very unpleasant churn in her stomach. It was then that Emma realized just how long it had been since she had eaten anything. It was definitely before the party in the West Village. If she remembered correctly, her last meal may have even been as far back as before her evening watch.

Suddenly, a faint smell wafted towards her nose. It was a warm, almost earthy smell that made her stomach grumble. On the bedside table, a lone bowl steamed invitingly in the morning air. Emma gave the bowl a side glance, her mind wondering as to what the contents could be. She cautiously reached for the bowl and her hands tingled at its warmth. It was a bowl of porridge, the brown sludge enticing her for a bite. She reached for the spoon, then paused. She wasn't sure if she could trust the morning meal. After all, it must have been left by one of the mercenaries. Her stomach gave an angry growl and she decided she'd risk it. The taste wasn't completely bland as there was a fair amount of sugar added, but it still felt heavy in her throat and her jaws felt stiff as she chewed her breakfast fit for a prisoner.

She swallowed thickly, her fingers subconsciously itching at her bare wrist. She paused, her brow scrunched in confusion and she brought up her hand closer to her face. There was no longer anything indicating that scratchy ropes had rubbed her wrist absolutely raw merely a few hours previously. In fact, there was not even a mere scuff against her skin. All up and down her arms, the little cuts and bruises had completely disappeared. It was like her nightly scuffle through the forest had not taken place at all. She cocked her head to the side lightly, passing the odd plant on the wardrobe a curious look. ' _Interesting_.'

Emma glanced around the tent, trying to occupy her mind with any plans of escape. Her green eyes first landed on a table across the room, which was now long void of the night's previous pile of weapons. Even the discarded bullet shells on the floor had been swept up. She leaned over and pulled out the small drawer of the bedside table, hoping to find anything resembling a weapon - even a pencil would have done some good - but found nothing but some pointless and crumbled papers and some old photos. Spooning another mouthful of her porridge, Emma picked up one of the pictures and brought it up to her face. With her mind still groggy from her restless sleep, she had to blink a few times before she could focus on the image.

The photo was quite old, with the edges moth-eaten and smeared with dirt smudges along the front. She wiped away the smudges with her thumb, revealing the person captured in time. The woman in the image stood out starkly against the discolored background and Emma cocked her head slightly to the left as the recognition began to settle in her mind.

It was her. Well, not her, but Jessie Jinx. The real Jessie Jinx. Or, as real as a game simulated picture could get.

Jessie was perched on the balcony of what looked to be a treehouse. She was leaning against the wooden railing, her fingers and wrist shining proudly with brilliant rings and fancy bracelets. Her button down shirt was tucked beneath white shorts which held against her frame with the help of a leather belt. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up to her elbows and a rather plump satchel hung around her right shoulder. Hanging loosely around her neck was a single beaded necklace, the white of the pearls shining in the day's sun of a time that never existed.

Jessie's hair looked a mess. It was underbrushed and hung wildly past her shoulders in a blonde rave. Emma wondered if she had just woken up, or if Jessie simply didn't bother with a comb.

The thing that really caught Emma's attention, though, was the face of the woman. She was looking directly at the camera, a soft kind of smile gracing her features. It was as if she had been caught off guard by the photographer, but wasn't at all bothered by them. She looked quite content; relaxed.

The next photo Emma grabbed was in no better condition from the last, but she could tell that both were kept in far better conditions than the others. This image also showed Jessie Jinx, however, it seemed more like a professional setting. Her wrinkled white shirt looked dirty from a day's hard work. Her body was slightly slouched and there were noticeable bags under her eyes. Her entire exterior gave away her exhaustion, yet the woman still managed to smile brightly at the camera with one hand proudly perched on her hip. Her hair was much better kept with her blonde locks falling with gentle curves around her face and Emma concluded that the previous picture must have been taken in the early morning. There was no dazzling jewelry on Jessie in this picture, but it did little to erase her overall beauty. In this photo, it was abundantly clear that Jessie Jinx was happy. Exhausted, sure, but happy all the same.

The rest of the images in the drawer were pictures of men she did not recognize and old news clippings about long lost treasures, all of which were in terrible shape. Emma could hardly make out any of the faces in the pictures from how unkept they were and she could only manage to make out a few spare sentences from the news clippings. It seemed that the only things taken even the slightest bit of upkeep from this cupboard were the two photos of Jessie Jinx.

After taking one last look at the photos, Emma carefully placed them back in their previous home and shut the drawer. She scarfed down the last remaining bites of her breakfast and got out of bed. The grass beneath her bare feet was cold and scratchy and a few rocks poked her toes, but she promptly ignored this as she wandered towards the tent entrance. She peered outside through the gap, careful not to be seen by the passing men. She thankfully did not spot Van Pelt anywhere, but there were many mercenaries scraping by in a rush and she had to duck behind the tarp many times in order to not be seen. The men paid her tent no mind as they scrambled around the campsite, gathering their things and packing them away into the backs of the monstrous trucks. Nearly all of the tents had been torn down and stacked away, along with the cookware and discarded clothing from the night before. They must be moving sites.

She was already far from the meeting point, but if she could manage to escape now, there was still a chance she could find the creek and follow it back to the pond where Alex would find her. If they moved campsites now, she may never find Alan Parrish's treehouse again, even if she _were_ to escape.

Emma gave the barren campsite one last scornful glance before heading further into her own tent. She had to move fast if she were to find any means of escaping. She took to the table, hoping that Van Pelt had made some mistake and left something behind - anything at all. Of course, there was nothing but the mess of papers. Emma huffed angrily and leaned against the table, trying to calm herself. She couldn't afford to panic in a time like this.

Spread along the table and beneath the skewed papers, Emma noticed something odd: a large strip of paper that seemed older than the rest. She brushed away the papers on top, quickly revealing a large coffee-stained roll of parchment. Dotting the tinted surface was crudely etched forest and mountains and rivers, along with various dots and stars. Above the more notable landmarks were what seemed to be names, the words hard to make out from the rough chicken-scrawl. It was abundantly obvious what Emma was looking at. It was a map of _Jumanji_.

She had never seen a full map of _Jumanji_ before. Both she and Alex had tried multiple times to create a map by use of the stars, however, this proved to be much more difficult than what either thought. They could never seem to get the correct measurements and always seemed to get turned around with their placements. In the end, they decided it was far easier simply following the stars rather than sketch out an untrustworthy map.

Now there was a trustworthy map; one that had been cleverly marked and skillfully drawn out. Although quite crude, Emma could still manage to make out basic landmarks and she was able to get a more solid estimate of how far she had ended up. She wasn't nearly as far away as she thought, if the red star marked on the map was where this campsite was located. If so, then she was only about a three-day walk from the West Village. Or Ruthor Village, according to the map.

Emma was filled with a great surge of hope. She was so close! All she had to do was find a way to escape her captors and she would be following the creek back to the meeting point in a matter of hours!

Emma was alight with determination. She straightened her back, held her chin straight, and quickly returned to her work searching the tent with much more vigor than previously. She cleared off the table, discarding the papers to the floor. There was nothing else on the table and she huffed. Emma wasted little time in going to the wardrobe across the room, the one which held the miracle plant from the night before. She glanced over her shoulder, then snapped a leaf off and stuffed it into her front jean pocket. She untucked her shirt and tried her best to flatten it down, the lengthened fabric only just hiding the light bulge in her pocket. Her shirt was terribly wrinkled, but she supposed it would do. She would definitely need this plant if she managed to escape. Once she was satisfied that the leaf was hidden well enough, she began rummaging through the cupboards. As she had expected, there was nothing more than bundles of folded clothing, abandoned buttons, and handfuls of coins. Emma huffed and ran a hand through her wild locks, her mind scrambling for a plan.

The sound of rough voices drifted in through the tent's entrance and Emma paused, her ears perking in anticipation. The voices were low, grumbling and moving closer. The moment she heard the scuffle of boots just outside she rushed towards the bed. She had to keep herself from lunging into the covers, for she had not taken note if the bed would creak. As silent as the thief she was, she climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over her legs. At the last second it took to try and settle herself, she made a quick decision to grab the freshly eaten bowl of porridge and placed it in her crossed lap, trying to give off the impression she was still in the process of finishing off her food. As soon as she had settled herself, the flaps swung open.

Two men rushed into the room, talking adamantly with each other, but Emma was unable to catch what they were saying before they both went silent and instead turned their attention to her. Of course, the man closest to her was Van Pelt. He was looking right at her, passive disgust in his eyes as he sized her up. Emma was growing increasingly uncomfortable, thoughts of him discovering her snooping around his things making her anxious. After a few silent heartbeats, Emma finally snapped, " _what_?" and shrugged her shoulders aggressively. Van Pelt scoffed and rolled his eyes, then turned back to the other mercenary.

"Get the trucks ready. We're moving out." The soldier gave a short nod, passed Emma an odd look, then left. Emma glared at his absence as she returned the empty bowl to the desk table. Suddenly, Van Pelt threw back her covers, startling Emma so much that she jumped. "Get up," he barked. He then went to the table across the room and began grabbing the mess of papers, rolling some and gathering them into his arms, ignoring the baffled look of the girl on the bed.

"You don't have to be so brash, you know," Emma mumbled under her breath before swinging her legs off the side of the mattress. Van Pelt took no notice of her as he went about his task, now at the wardrobe stuffing objects into his pockets. Begrudgingly, Emma stood and stretched her arms over her head, popping her back in a few places as she did so. Finished with the wardrobe, Van Pelt made for the cupboard, shoving Emma out of the way with a broad shoulder. Although quite childish, Emma made a face at his back and crossed her arms firmly against her chest.

The tent flaps opened once more, revealing the same man as before. This time, he was holding a thick bundle of ropes. Emma took one look at the man's baggage and instantly felt her heart drop. She looked from the man to Van Pelt, who gave her a simple nonchalant look in turn, then back to the man. She turned back to Van Pelt, a perplexed chuckle escaping her throat. "You're not serious."

Van Pelt scoffed, disregarding her completely as he began to exit the tent, but not without a "make sure it's tight."

It crossed Emma's mind to take her chance and attack the lone mercenary. After all, she knew she could take out a single man easily. However, the sounds of life outside reminded her that there was far more than a single man outside. Resentfully, she held out her hands and the man went to work tying knots around her freshly healed wrist. Thankfully not as tight as Van Pelt had the night before.

Once the ropes were secure, the man took hold of one of the longer ends and tugged her along like a dog on a leash, Emma absolutely fuming behind him in silence. It took everything in her not to hit the man over his fat head as he led her outside, parading her around like some prize pig at the fair.

It was clear that the mercenaries had been hard at work in the hours before she had woken. Nearly the entire campsite was barren, all of the tents from last night now thrown up and shoved into the back of the enormous trucks followed by random, previously discarded objects. The only tents remaining were the ones similar to Van Pelts; the large, bulky ones that were either too big to pack or the mercenaries simply didn't want to deal with. The fire pits from the night before had been extinguished with the rising morning, weak billows of smoke still dancing their white tendrils in the gentle breeze.

The large caravan of bad guys had already begun their trek into the unknown, heading in the exact opposite direction Emma needed to go. The huge trucks shuttered as the engines turned over and the revving of motorcycles could be heard somewhere up ahead. The group were in an unruly line, marching in their set direction. The mercenary holding onto her ropes gave them a small yank, and with that they fell into line.

As they left the abandoned campsite, Emma's mind scrambled for ideas, her eyes scanning her surroundings for any means of an escape route. She had no idea where Van Pelt had gone, but she assumed he must be somewhere at the front of the caravan. She couldn't decide if this was a good thing or not. On one hand, it would be harder for him to stop her even if he wasn't at the front of the line. If he was somewhere she couldn't see, then it would definitely be harder for him to get to her if she were to run. On the other hand, since she wasn't completely sure where he was, it was a worrisome possibility that she would run directly into his arms.

So, she trailed after the mercenary dutifully, playing the part of a kidnapped princess as she should, waiting for her chance to escape. The caravan traveled onward, her tied hands tugging her along the well-worn grass path through the woods with the enemy troop and their multitudes of weapons and artillery before her.

They walked for hours, the early morning light slowly faded to the evening's brightness, followed by the famous jungle heat. Emma groveled and sauntered along, quietly thinking up different possibilities to escape, all ending in her capture. Emma sighed angrily and turned her attention to the passing trees so as to keep her gaze from the men and her thoughts from wacking one of them over the head. It was then that Emma noticed that the trees to the right of the path had begun to thin in numbers. She tried to look ahead, yet could not see much past the trucks and the back of men's heads. Despite this, she could tell the treeline was definitely not as dense as the left side. She felt her adrenaline slowly beginning to rise, the tips of her fingers starting to tremble. A plan began to boil in her thoughts.

She gradually eased her way closer to the edge of the path, trying not to move too quickly so as not to alert the man holding her restraints. She could see bright rays of sunlight peeking through what she desperately hoped was a break in the treeline up ahead and she began praying to whoever would listen, hoping her prayers would be heard over the thundering in her chest. Closer and closer they got, every step making Emma wonder if she would pass out if she were to take another. She could see now that there was a definite opening in the trees and she swallowed thickly.

Suddenly, Emma found herself frozen, unable to move in any way as she stared wide-eyed into the open green field. Here was her chance to escape. Here was the opportunity she had been wishing for, and yet she found that she had no idea what to do. She had been so focused on reaching the break in the trees that she didn't think of what to do when she reached the destination.

She felt a harsh tug on her wrist. "Keep it moving!" her captor growled. Emma's eyes flickered from the man's hateful glower to the small rolling meadow, her mind going blank as to what her next move should be. The mercenary's patience grew thin increasingly quickly and he yanked on the rope again. He yanked so hard, in fact, that it sent Emma stumbling forward. In the split second it took Emma to regain her footing, she made her move.

The man's shout of alarm was curtly muffled by the steel toe of Emma's boot as she smashed it against his bearded face. The man dropped to the ground instantly, and Emma took her chance to run. Emma spun on her heels and went to take her first step towards freedom, only to be met with another mercenary. This man had a crazed grin on his greasy face and a large machete clutched into his thick grip. He lifted the weapon over his head and brought it down hard. Emma hardly had enough time to react, but it wasn't a reaction she would have chosen. She threw her hands in front of herself, trying to shield her face.

A heavy pressure slammed down onto her, yet she felt no pain. She blinked hard, trying to get her breath back as her brain tried to register what had happened. The mercenary's machete had gone between her outstretched hands, catching on the thick ropes and stopping the blade from meeting her face. The ropes splintered, almost cut completely through. Emma reacted without thinking, crossing her arms and twisting the blade with the rope and knocking the handle loose in the man's grip. She grabbed the blade with her bare hands and pulled while throwing her boot into the man's stomach. He stumbled backwards, dropping the machete completely.

Another shout was heard coming from behind Emma. She whipped around and slammed the handle of the machete into the temple of the another mercenary, dropping him instantly. The second man cursed, stumbling to stand back on his feet. Emma took her free moment to throw the knife in the air and she snatched the handle, flicking the blade up against the ropes and cutting the rest of the way through her restraints. The second man launched himself at her. Emma side-stepped, taking the man by surprise and he stumbles forward. Before he could recover, she slammed the handle of the knife against the back of his head. Then, she ran.

Emma bolted through the trees towards the field, the shouts of the men behind her drowned out by a rush in her ears. The humidity of the jungle made her feel sticky and suffocated. Her clothes and hair, slick with perspiration, clung to her skin uncomfortably. Sweat rolled down her skin in thick, salty beads. She could feel her heart throbbing inside her chest painfully. And yet, she ran. The bumps and holes along the uneven ground made it hard for her to keep a steady pace, yet she did not dare allow herself to slow. She raced across the field, eventually bursting through the opposite treeline. Without thinking, she took a moment to look behind her. Emma instantly felt sick to her stomach.

Van Pelt, followed by a handful of his mercenaries, were racing down the hill, and they were gaining on her _fast_.

Emma darted through the bushes, dodging and winding around trees and brier patches like the wind spiraling through the forest. The jungle floor was ever sloping downwards, which made it increasingly hard for Emma to keep her footing. On more than one occasion she nearly fell or twisted her ankle, but she kept on. Suddenly, the floor beneath her disappeared and Emma dropped hard.

Water enveloped her body and splashed into her face, muffling her pained scream from the ears of her pursuers. Emma sat up and gasped in pain, her face feeling hot despite the fresh creek water she had landed in. Her left leg felt terribly numb, throbbing up into her gut like someone was squeezing her entire left side within their fiery fist. She tried to push herself up, her left hand digging into the rocky riverbed and she was painfully reminded of the gashes in her palms from the machete that she had managed to keep hold of in her right hand. This pain was quickly overridden by the feeling that radiated in her left leg. A hand flew to her mouth and she bit down hard on her fist to keep herself from crying out, tears beginning to bubble in the corners of her eyes.

Calls of angry voices exploded to her left and she knew the men were gaining on her. She had no time to think; only a single word playing in her mind. ' _Run_.'

Emma bit down on her tongue hard, trying not to make a sound as she slowly began to rise to her feet. The sickening numbness and bubbling aches made her sick to her stomach and she thought for a moment she would throw up. She pushed on, her clothes feeling incredibly heavy as they clung to her skin and dripped an excessive amount of water. When she was finally standing upright, her head spun dangerously and she tasted blood from how hard she was clamping her teeth. She blinked heavily and breathed hard and slow, trying to will her sight back from the doubled, blurry vision she saw. When she heard another shout, she knew she had wasted enough time standing in the creek and she pushed herself in the direction opposite of the voices.

Emma nearly screamed when she placed pressure on her left leg. She could feel a crumbling, cracking in her ankle, and she instantly knew she had damaged it extensively. But this was her only chance at escaping, so she hobbled on, doing her best to bounce forward on her right leg. She dangled her left leg as best she could, and she couldn't decide if this caused less or more pain. She had only gotten a few feet away from the creek when she knew she was moments away from passing out. Her head swam and she couldn't see straight, her entire body radiated in an uncomfortable, hot way and her head was dripping sweat despite the water that still clung to her body.

Emma chanced a glance over her shoulder and saw the forms of the men reaching the top of the hill. Knowing she could do no more running, Emma stumbled towards the biggest tree she could see and pressed her back against the trunk. Her breathing was hard and erratic, so much so that every rattled gasp hurt her chest. The men drew nearer and she pressed her fist to her mouth again, trying to quiet herself. She tried to listen to what was being said, yet she couldn't hear their mumblings past the rushing within her eardrums. For a fleeting moment, she thought someone had spotted her as a chorus of yelling spouted with the sounds of splashing in the creek. Relief flooded her when she saw the men were following the creek downstream, away from her poor hiding spot.

When their booming voices finally faded into the distance, Emma allowed her fist to drop and she breathed a deep sigh of relief. Her head slumped against the rough bark and she began to sink to the floor. Emma was close to tears now, the adrenaline quickly being replaced with the overwhelming feeling of fear and relief. Then, a twig snapped.

Her entire body went rigid, her ears perking and her grip on the machete tightening. She searched desperately for another sound, but was unable to hear correctly yet as her adrenaline was only just settling and her ears still pulsated. Her exhausted body tensed as she waited, but nothing happened. Knowing she could not afford to stay there any longer, Emma pushed herself from the tree and limped forward. As she backed away from the tree, she turned around and tried to look around the trunk for the source of the sound. As soon as her back was turned, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her from behind.

Emma threw her elbow back instantly, hitting the man in the gut hard. She spun around and swung her machete, aiming for where she thought his head would be. The man, despite being hit in the gut, caught her raised arm by the wrist, halting her second attack. He threw her hand away from him then lunged, shoving her hard against the tree trunk that had previously acted as her safe haven.

Emma coughed as the air was forced from her lungs from the impact and she nearly dropped to the ground. Before her legs could give, the man rammed his elbow into her chest, pinning her to the tree. Emma clutched her machete and threw it up, holding it tightly against the man's throat. The two stood at a stand still, both breathing heavily as their exhausted glares flamed with murderous rage. Emma's nose scrunched when she finally realized just who had snuck up on her, a hateful scoff forcing its way past her lips as her green eyes blazed. "We have to stop meeting like this," she commented with a snarky upturn of her lip.

Van Pelt's own glare was almost enough to send Emma's wilting away. His very gaze felt like an act of violence, with that one monochromed eye and the other as black as the jungle night. It is the kind of glare that harbors intent. And yet there was always something else there. There's a tale behind it, that odd, evil stare; something she's connected to somehow, but she doesn't know what.

Van Pelt huffed, his own nose wrinkled in such a way that he resembled that of a snarling jaguar. He readjusted himself and Emma pressed the blade tighter against his flesh, daring him to make another move. He froze, but only momentarily. The wrinkles around his eyes and forehead deepened and he growled his own warning, pressing his elbow deeper into her own throat. For a terrifying moment, Emma thought he would continue to press down, slowly crushing her jugular before she even had a chance to slice his own. Then, he relaxed. Not enough for her to get loose, but enough to allow air to return to her burning lungs. Then a smirk replaced his snarl, followed by a deep, threatening chuckle.

"You have a bad habit of getting yourself into trouble, girl. How far do you really think you'll get on that bum leg of yours?" Emma gulped, but said nothing. "You're not exactly good at escaping me, are you?" He leaned in, his handsome face now so close that Emma could feel his breath fluttering against her lips. She felt a shiver race through her body.

"Not like I have to be in this position," she nudged the blade to make her point. Van Pelt only chuckled.

"You can't kill me. If what you said about us is true and I am simply a "creation of a game," then I'm not exactly alive, am I?"

Emma shuffled uncomfortably, yet her face did not dare display that discomfort. "I guess not, but that doesn't mean I can't try." Van Pelt laughed at that. It was quite a sinister sound that made Emma want to curl up into a ball and completely disappear from the world's gaze.

Without warning, Van Pelt loosened his grip. He leaned back, giving Emma a sparse amount of space from him and he let his arm drop from her body. Emma blinked, her brow scrunched in confusion and her own grip on the machete giving lightly. As soon as she had done that, Van Pelt smacked her arm away so hard that her only weapon went flying. Emma cursed and threw her hands up, slamming against the man's hard chest. It was then that she realized just how weak and shaky her body had become, the excursion of the running and pain taking its toll on her terribly. Van Pelt smirked devilishly, knowing he had the upper hand now.

Emma growled furiously, pushing and hitting him as hard as her weakened fist could, yet it wasn't enough to move the man before her. "God damn it!" she cried out, still pathetically pounding at his chest. Van Pelt let out another laugh, sparking something within Emma's chest. Without thinking, Emma slapped the man across the face hard. Blood splattered across his cheek and for a moment, Emma thought it was his. However, the pained sensation in her palm reminded her of the open gashes she had sustained from her pathetic excuse of an escape. Van Pelt's glare was back. He wiped his stinging cheek with the back of his hand, looking at the bloody smear left behind. He eyed the red furiously, his eyes darting down to her hands then back to his own as his mind registered where the blood was from.

Van Pelt huffed and shook his head. "You can't do anything without injuring yourself, can you?" Emma felt her angry resolve melting away, replaced with humiliation. If she had only taken the chance to think up of a plan, she would be on her way back to the treehouse. Instead, here she was; once again captured by the enemy, battered and beaten by her own accord. Van Pelt sighed deeply. With one good swoop, he cuffed an arm around Emma's midsection and hoisted her over his shoulder. Emma fought back for a few moments, but she knew she couldn't really do anything now, with her tired, broken body. Feeling terribly embarrassed, hurt, and angry, Emma instead went about spewing mouthfuls of curses and furious remarks; anything at all that popped into her mind as she was helplessly carried back to the caravan of merciless mercenaries.


End file.
